


Oh What a Night

by Bethann, Minniemoggie, Susana Rosa (SusanaR)



Series: AU of Legendary Friendship and Desperate Hours AUs [2]
Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Bar Room Brawl, Drunkenness, F/M, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Spanking, illustrated story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-22
Updated: 2012-10-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 19:19:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bethann/pseuds/Bethann, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minniemoggie/pseuds/Minniemoggie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanaR/pseuds/Susana%20Rosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Prince of Ithilien and the Prince of Greenwood are accidentally arrested after an evening of drunken revelry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N : This story is a collaboration between myself, Bethann, and Minniemoggie. It is its own AU in and of itself, using the Legolas and Gimli from Beth and MinnieMoggie's series "A Legendary Friendship," and an AU version of Faramir from Susana's Desperate Hours series.  
> The Legendary Friendship series is AU from canon in that Tolkien says that elves reach the age of consent at age 50, but for the purpose of these stories it is around 1,000. So, around the time of the Ring War, Legolas is around 800 years old and had joined the quest without permission from his father and king. That means that even though he is chronologically older than most of the members of the fellowship, in terms of stage of life he is one of the youngest. The Legendary Friendship series can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/10592
> 
> The Desperate Hours ("DH)" AU, or DH AU, is AU from canon in that Faramir is secretly the illegitimate son of Aragorn. The desperate Hours Series can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/8893
> 
> We hope that you enjoy this story and the rest of the series! However these stories are a world all their own and should not be considered a part of either Susana's or Minnie and Beth's separate universes. For instance if you read a story by Susana that she has written on her own, her Legolas and Gimli should not be thought of as Minnie and Beth's take on the same characters. The authors just wanted to see what would happen if we mixed up `our' unique versions of these characters. As it turned out it was a lot of fun! We hope you all enjoy it as much as the three of us did!

[Gimli’s POV]

“Lift your arm just a bit,” Gimli instructed his sheepish and very red faced charge, who sat on the edge of the bed of the guest chambers in the White City. “Not too much now,” Gimli cautioned, “We don’t want to disturb your ribs do we?”

Legolas gave a noncommittal grunt in answer to the question, but he allowed the dwarf to ease him out of his shirt one arm at a time and then lift it over his head so as not to cause unnecessary pain. Gimli ignored what he thought looked decidedly like a pout on the elf’s face and continued with the task at hand. Legolas protested softly as Gimli reversed the action and began to help him into a loose fitting nightshirt, carefully threading his arms through the armholes as if he were a very small elfling who hadn’t yet learned to dress himself.

“Gimli, please! I can do it. Besides it is morning…”

“I am very well aware of the time, my lad,” Gimli stated, gently slapping the elf’s hands away when he tried to interfere with the dwarf unfastening the ties of his leggings. “What difference does it make if its morning or evening?”

“Well it is just that…”

“Ye don’t think ye should be put to bed in the day time?” Gimli guessed. “Recall that if ye had done what ye were meant to be doing, ye’d be waking up now from a nice long rest instead of going to sleep after spending the night in a holding cell.”

“But Gimli, I…”

“Furthermore, Aragorn says your ribs must be rested, so rested they will be. Ye are not to move one finger from this bed without my permission and my assistance. For today at least that means ye may get up- with my help- to use the facilities and that’s it. Is that plain enough Elfling?”

Legolas’ scowl deepened, “Yes it is plain, but…”

Gimli’s eyes narrowed as he grasped his elf by the chin and looked deep into his eyes, and growled, “Do ye really think ye are in any position to argue with me, lamb? And think carefully before ye answer.”

“No Gimli,” Legolas responded, swallowing hard.

“Good answer!” Gimli nodded approval for the end of this particular discussion. In one swift movement he peeled the elf’s leggings down over bony hips and long legs while tugging the long nightshirt down at the same time. Next he tapped the side of Legolas’ thigh to indicate that he should get the rest of the way in the bed. He assisted the lad by helping to lift his legs and then easing him back against the pillows and pulling a quilt up over him.

“Now be still, while I make up this pain relieving tea, and don’t roll your eyes at me, youngling. It is your own fault ye are in this predicament! Ye know very well my feelings about deceit. What exactly were ye thinking?”

Legolas lowered his eyes at that, looking properly contrite, Gimli noticed.

“I am sorry, Elvellon. Truly I am,” Legolas sighed. “It is just that…”

“Never mind that for now, Lamb,” Gimli softened his tone as he poured hot water over the tea, for he did understand his charge’s feelings over what had happened. It hadn’t taken the dwarf long to figure out that Legolas hadn’t wanted to let Faramir think he needed permission to go out on his own, so he had accepted the Steward’s offer without discussing it with Gimli at all and had in fact deceived the dwarf into believing he was safely in bed all evening. Gimli sighed inwardly at the thought, for it wouldn’t have been likely that he would have denied Legolas consent had the elfling asked for it, or even if Legolas had just truthfully explained what he intended to do. Gimli had no desire to squelch the child’s fun or prevent him doing as he pleased within reasonable bounds. But evidently Legolas had thought that the risk of being denied too great and had come up with a contrived plan instead, just to be on the safe side. Of course that had ended with him sporting a black eye and two broken ribs, not to mention being held in custody until his guardian could come to collect him.

Gimli sighed again, out loud this time. He wished, not for the first time, that Legolas would just accept the fact that it was not a shameful thing to be considered young enough to have need of a parent or guardian to watch over him. But no matter how many times they had discussed it, the concept just didn’t sink into the thick elven skull, such that proving his adulthood was a constant theme that regularly brought the lad to grief. Still, now was not the time to discuss this again, for the child was obviously embarrassed and exhausted and likely in considerable pain.

“Never mind, Laddie,” Gimli repeated, kissing the elf’s forehead. “We won’t discuss it this morning. For now just swallow this and close your eyes and try to relax. I will sit with ye while ye sleep.”

Gimli was relieved when the lad didn’t argue the necessity of that, but instead smiled weakly and meekly did as he was told. It didn’t take long before his breathing evened out, leaving Gimli alone with his thoughts. Leaning back in his chair he pressed his thumbs against his temples to relieve the ache that had developed behind his eyes. What a night it had been!

Oh it had started out well enough, for a great deal of progress was being made on the great gate by the dwarven crews Gimli had brought along with him to work in the White City. The work had begun at dawn as always, but instead of ending at first dark as usual, lanterns had been lit so that the work could continue on into the night. They had come to a crucial point in the construction, where workers were needed round the clock, for the temporary gate had been removed completely which meant that for security reasons, the permanent gate had to be finished without delay. It was vital that the work be done quickly, but efficiently, and Gimli did not trust anyone else to oversee that aspect of the project. He had been personally entrusted with this responsibility, and knew he would never be able to live with himself if the King’s safety was compromised. Besides, he would never have been able to sleep anyway for wondering how things were coming along. That meant that instead of returning to his guest apartments in the Citadel to sleep, he would be working throughout the night. It would be nearly dawn before they reached a point where the safety of the King and the citizens of Minas Tirith were no longer an issue.

Sometime during the early evening Gimli’s elven charge had surprised him by bringing him a flask of good black ale to go with food that had been sent along for the crews. The dwarf had been quite pleased by the gesture at the time, though he could see now that it might have been a smokescreen meant to throw off any concerns he might have over Legolas’ whereabouts, for working round the clock meant not being able to keep as close a watch on his elf as he would have liked to. Likely Legolas had known that Gimli very well could have left the work site for a short time to seek him out just to make sure that all was well with him. By showing up when he did, he managed to give Gimli a false sense of security, ensuring that the dwarf would be satisfied with that and not check up on him again that night.

It certainly had worked, Gimli ruefully admitted to himself, for he had stupidly assumed that when Legolas told him he was going back to their chambers, he mean to stay there for the evening. He should have known it was only a matter of time before the lad found trouble again. It had been nearly a month since the debacle at the bridge and Gimli had been tentatively optimistic, for there hadn’t been so much as a hard look or a cool word between them. Oh there had been rolled eyes and a sigh or two when Gimli had required that Legolas have an escort when exploring the city and insisting that he stay away from certain places altogether, but for the most part he had taken such strictures in good humor and abided by them without complaint.

For the most part Legolas didn’t seem to be bothered by his guardian’s constantly wanting to know his whereabouts. He might have grown accustomed to it such that it now seemed like a sign of Gimli’s care instead of a stifling demand. Maybe such strictures didn’t grate as they had at first. Lately, to Gimli’s happy approval, Legolas had even taken to letting the dwarf know his plans without being asked, just out of courtesy, for he knew the dwarf worried for him otherwise. As a matter of fact part of the reason for his Legolas’ visit earlier had been to inform Gimli that his plans to attend a star gazing with Faramir had been changed, and that he was going back to their shared chambers instead. Perhaps this straight forward and open statement was why the dwarf had suspected nothing out of the ordinary.

Had Gimli not been distracted by the work at hand and lulled into a sense of security by the elf’s recent model behavior, he might have remembered that going back to their chambers, did not necessarily mean staying there. He might have thought to insist on being informed should Legolas’ plans changed for he liked to at least be aware of where the lad was, even if he was not likely to forbid him doing whatever he wished, within reason.

Gimli shook his head at his own gullibility, and growled softly in frustration as he noticed the elfling wince in pain when he took a deep breath even in his sleep. He should have been paying better attention, but he swore to himself he would not be so easily deceived another time!

Still that was no help now, for he hadn’t given Legolas another thought after patting his cheek and bidding him goodnight. No he hadn’t thought of the lad again until the city guard had arrived looking for a certain Lord Gimli, and asking the dwarf if he knew of his whereabouts.

“At your service,” Gimli had responded, “What can I do for ye?”

The guard frowned. “You can’t be Lord Gimli,” he stated, sounding quite sure of himself.

“I assure you, I am,” Gimli promised him.

“Nay it cannot be, or at least there must be another of the same name.” the guard insisted, “The Lord Gimli I am to find is needed to collect his charge at the detention house.”

“Detention house?” Gimli nearly dropped the tools in his hand in his alarm. “What is he doing there? Is he all right?”

“Peace, Master Dwarf,” the shaggy human smiled down at him, “It is not a young dwarf we have in custody, but an elfling who is evidently a visitor to our city. His guardian must be one of the elves who have been working in the gardens, though I was told to find him here. But please go on about your business.”

“I would except for the fact that ye have just told me ye have my lad detained in the guard house. I ask ye again, is he all right?”

“I do not think you understand sir,” the guard tried to explain again, “the youngster we have in custody is…”

“An elf,” Gimli finished impatiently, “Aye I know that! Ye must take me to him.”

“But…”

“Listen closely Master Guard,” Gimli cut him off. “The elfling is in my charge, I swear it. Ye must take me to him, for he will be wanting to see me.”

Gimli was quite sure of that, for even if Legolas feared being in trouble with his guardian, he would be uncomfortable and even a little nervous spending time in a human jail house. Seeing that the guard didn’t believe him yet, he continued with a frustrated sigh.

“ Legolas is in my charge, I assure you it is so,” Gimli explained, thinking that his knowing the elfling’s name might convince the confused man. Then he added for good measure, “He is a slender, fair-faced lad with long golden hair, likely braided down the back and at the sides. Dark brows, blue eyes…”

“Aye, I see now what you say is true,” the guard gestured Gimli to follow him, “But how…”

“It is a long story!” Gimli growled, “Now hurry along for we have wasted too much time already!”

“There is no need to worry, Lord Gimli. The elf was well enough from what I could see, though a bit battered and dirty.”

The man hurried his pace anyway, likely noticing Gimli’s determined and concerned face.

In spite of this comforting bit of information, the dwarf was not comforted in the least. He knew his charge well enough to know that he would claim to be fine even if pierced through by an orc sword, and even in front of his trusted friends. To a bunch of strange humans he would show no weakness if it could be helped at all. That the man had noticed that the elf was battered was enough to give Gimli something to worry over.

As it turned out he was quite right to be worried, for he could see from the moment the guard lead him into the guardhouse and he first got a glimpse of his elf that all was not well with Legolas. His breathing was uneasy, though the dwarf supposed it was likely that the human guards would not have noticed this. But Gimli had learned to read his elf as easily as any book, and he could see the child was in considerable pain despite his calm demeanor.

“Ai, Lamb what happened? Where are ye hurt?” Gimli said from the door before hurrying to his elfling who was sitting in a straight-backed chair in what seemed to be an office of sorts.

“Gimli!” Legolas clearly had not been told that his guardian had been summoned, for his eyes registered surprise and then relief. “Umm, I will be well soon enough.”

It was the sort of evasive answer that Gimli never liked to hear, and he certainly wouldn’t put up with it today.

“Nonsense, Elfling, I can see ye are in pain. Now tell me without delay where ye are hurt.” Gimli ordered, already leaning down to inspect the elf’s bleeding lip and carefully turning his head to better see the swollen eye. Cupping the side of the elf’s face in one large hand and tucking the long hair behind his pointed ear with the other, the dwarf repeated. “Tell me quickly!”

 

“Well, Elvellon, the truth is my ribs might be bruised a bit,” Legolas peeked up at him a trifle apprehensively.

“Bruised ye say?” Gimli asked skeptically, “Well we shall see! What in Mahal’s name happened here anyway? Are ye not meant to be sleeping in our chambers right now?”

When Legolas was not immediately forthcoming, Gimli looked to the man who was sitting behind the desk, who seemed to be in charge.

“There was a bar room brawl that turned into a mob,” the man explained. “We know not how it started, but we arrested the whole rowdy lot for their trouble! The others will sleep it off in the cells tonight and be sentenced in the morning, but this one’s friend let us know that the elf was under age yet. We had no way of knowing, considering that all elves look just about the same regardless of age, but it is not our custom to keep children in with adult inmates. Instead they are given over to a parent or guardian for correction, which is why you were summoned. Although I will admit that I never expected to see a dwarf.”

“Hmmph,” Gimli snorted, “be that as it may, I assure ye, ye can safely hand him over to me. I will see to him from here on out.” Then turning to Legolas again he asked as if just thinking of something, “What friend?”

Legolas appeared to be unsure of whether to say or not, but the dwarf’s expression made him decide that it might be best to answer as succinctly as possible.

“I was with Faramir,” he explained. “We were together in a cell, but then I was brought out here while he was left behind.”

Gimli only just kept from rolling his eyes. He should have known, for the serious and usually mild mannered young man evidently had a bit of a well-hidden wild streak. Perhaps it would serve him right to spend a night in the pokey, for Gimli certainly didn’t need anyone encouraging his elfling into trouble. And yet he did not know the whole story, and unknown to the community at large, Faramir was the son of the king and Gimli’s dear friend. He found he couldn’t leave the lad behind any more than he could leave his own dear elf.

Turning back to the man in charge, Gimli frowned, “Ye have arrested your steward? Ye are a great deal braver than I am if that is so. Your king is very fond of him.”

The man looked indignant and alarmed at the same time.

“What do you mean?” he demanded.

“If ye find the elfling’s friend and take a closer look, I believe ye will see that he is the Steward of your city, Lord Faramir.”

“It cannot be,” the man insisted, though he signaled one of his guards to go find out and quickly. Sure enough only moments later, the guard came out red faced and apologizing profusely to the man they had arrested earlier that night.

“We didn’t recognize you, Lord Faramir, what with all that dirt and blood and all.,. “ the man made excuse.

Faramir, clearly more embarrassed even than the poor humiliated guard, only waved away the apologies, and murmured something that the dwarf could not hear. Gimli noticed that Faramir was swaying a bit and blinking as he took in his surroundings. He blanched visibly when the dwarf stepped forward to have a closer look at him. Gimli was surprised that Faramir could even see him at all with one eye swollen completely shut and the other a mere slit surrounded by a rapidly darkening bruise.

“Ye look like something the cat dragged in, Laddie,”Gimli observed, stepping closer to see Faramir more clearly. As he did, so he noticed right off that the young man smelled like a brewery, besides being caked in grime and blood. He didn’t comment on this, but simply asked, “Are those shiners the worst of your injuries or is there some hurt I should know about before I escort you to your fa….your king?” Gimli looked around to make sure no one noticed that he had almost slipped and said something else. Fortunately the guards were in a heated discussion over just who it was that hadn’t recognized that they had arrested their own steward.

If possible Faramir went even paler under the filth decorating his face, but he only replied meekly.

“Nay nothing worse, Lord Gimli. And I would prefer to go back to my own chambers rather than bothering the king so early in the morning.”

Gimli snorted in contempt at that statement. “That won’t be happening, my boy, as I am sure ye must already know. Aragorn would not thank me for it, and besides Legolas is injured and ye’re not looking so well yourself, if ye don’t mind me saying it. The King would be wrath with me if I were to allow anyone else to treat your hurts now wouldn’t he?”

Faramir didn’t answer, for he was looking with concern at his partner in crime. “Is it serious Lord Gimli?” he asked and the dwarf noticed he looked quite ill at the idea.

Gimli could not answer for certain, but the fact that Legolas was still sitting down and keeping quiet told him a great deal. Pointing a warning finger in Faramir’s face that meant he should stay put, Gimli went back to kneel before his elfling. Taking both sides of his battered face in his hands, he looked deep into the elf’s eyes thinking he could read the truth in their depths if he looked hard enough.

“Listen to me, Lamb. Are ye able to walk back home or should I make other arrangements. Be truthful now…”

“I am fine,” Legolas began, but then changed that. “That is it hurts a good deal, but I am pretty sure I can walk.”

Not quite satisfied with that, the dwarf ran gentle hands over the elfling’s ribcage causing Legolas to gasp, when he applied a tiny bit of pressure. Still nothing seemed out of place and carrying him or getting him on the back of a horse might disturb his ribs more than having him walk.

“Very well then, Let us go.”

Gimli helped his elfling to his feet and then steadied him when he winced in pain and swayed a bit.

“Lean on me, Lamb,” Gimli instructed. “Slowly now, we aren’t trying to win any races ye know.”

Legolas nodded, holding onto the dwarf for support as Faramir took his place on the other side of the elf, just in case his help was needed as well. Gimli appreciated the gesture, though he rather doubted Faramir’s ability to keep even himself upright. As it was he had to stop several times to let Legolas get his breath or to let Faramir close his eyes and swallow several times as if trying to control his alcohol induced nausea. It was a long, miserable walk back, and Gimli almost regretted his decision to not find a hire a horse for the journey. Eventually they came to the guarded front courtyard of the Citadel, and Gimli sent one of the guards on duty to fetch the king asking him to meet them in the King’s own sitting room. Fortunately the guards there recognized the dwarf and elf as friends of their king and Faramir as the Steward of the city and did not try to hinder their access to the King’s private quarters. In fact they were invited in quite warmly by one of Arwen’s ladies in waiting, who had obviously been alerted to their impending arrival. If she thought it unusual the earliness of the hour or the manner of their arrival, she schooled her features and said nothing, only indicating that they should be seated to wait for the king. She did hurry to drape a sheet over the couch before either Legolas or Faramir could do so, however, and then curtsied herself out of the room.

Legolas was breathing heavily and Faramir looking quite green, so Gimli alternated between patting Legolas on the back and encouraging Faramir to breathe through his nose all the while desperately watching the door for Aragorn’s arrival.

It seemed like hours, but really it was only a few minutes before Aragorn burst into the room with healing supplies in his hands and looking more than a little disheveled. The king wore leggings and a loose shirt which he hadn’t taken the time to button, and his hair was loose and uncombed and his feet bare. His expression was fierce and worried though his eyes still held the remnants of sleep.

“What in Eru’s name is going on here?” he demanded, in a panicked voice, and then, “Fires of Mordor! What happened?” when he got a glimpse of the occupants of his couch.

Gimli moved out of Aragorn’s way after reminding him that he should probably look them over before anyone explained anything. Aragorn sighed and nodded, perhaps feeling a little embarrassed at having to be reminded of that, but the dwarf thought he could be forgiven considering the circumstances. After all it was a rough way to be awakened from sleep. After that Aragorn put on his long suffering healer face and went about seeing to his patients, asking questions and then carefully examining injuries. He carefully pressed on Legolas’ ribs and shook his head in regret.

“I am afraid two of them are broken, my friend, though fortunately not displaced,” he informed the elf and then aimed his next words at Gimli, “they will need to be wrapped now and then rested for a day or two. I will give you some tea to take with you for the pain.”

Gimli knew well enough how to wrap broken ribs having done it before, but he hesitated as he was about to begin the task. He was loathe to wrap the clean bandages over the blood and grime that covered his charge.

“I believe you will find warm water and clean clothes in the bathing chambers, friend Gimli.” A soft feminine voice seemed to read his mind. Gimli had not seen Arwen enter the room, but he was not entirely surprised to find her standing there watching, for she must have been startled out of sleep as well.

“Whatever you do, don’t slip for Valar’s sake,” Aragorn looked up to say. Gimli, who had had the exact same thought, made sure that would not be the case. He helped Legolas through some admittedly patchy ablutions, never once letting go of him, and then helped him to dress in the clean clothes that had been provided. Gimli smiled at that thinking that it was quite a boon to be a friend of the King and Queen, to be able to have your own clean laundry available in any part of the Citadel where you needed it, Next he went back to his former task, carefully wrapping the elf’s damaged ribs and then returned to the sitting room, where Aragorn was worriedly asking Faramir questions about pain and his ability to move arms and legs, fingers and neck. After he seemed satisfied that Faramir was not seriously damaged, he started the long process of washing wounds and applying salve.

It was while he was doing this that he finally wanted an explanation.

“What exactly happened here?” Aragorn demanded. “How came you to be in this condition at this time of day? Surely it’s too early for even the two of you to find trouble.”

“Well in this case, ye might say it is very late, rather than very early,” Gimli began to explain, sitting next to his elfling and stroking his hair. “But I think tomorrow is time enough for explanations.”

He had noticed that Legolas was beginning to look rather ashen, and knew he was in no shape to endure the king’s sometimes rather caustic tongue. Aragorn, however, was indignant.

“What if I command you as the King of this realm?” he bellowed, making Faramir jump and Legolas wince. Gimli was not moved however, for he realized his friend spoke out of concern and not true wrath.

“I am taking this elfling off to bed,” he stated calmly. “Ye can question him later. Come along, Lamb.”

Gimli held out an arm for his elf to hold onto for support and carefully guided him toward the door. Aragorn just rolled his eyes and turned his attention to Faramir.

“Well at least you I can demand an explanation from,” he declared. “Tell me what happened, my dear son and Steward, and don’t leave out any details if you know what is good for…OH ERU.”

Gimli turned around just in time to see the steward heave forward and spill the considerable contents of his stomach into his newly discovered father’s lap. Gimli only smiled and turned to continue on his way.

“Should we not help him, Gimli?” Legolas asked, speaking for the first time since they had arrived in the King’s chambers.

“Nay, Lad, he can handle it. Let him experience the joys of fatherhood in earnest.” Gimli answered with a wink. He was gratified to see Legolas smile slightly at his response.

Now the dwarf laughed softly over the recent memory, and then settled down in his chair to get some sleep. He knew that since he hadn’t slept in over a day, it would be too much of a risk to sleep in his own bed. If Legolas were to wake up and need him, he might not be able to hear his call. Ah well, it wouldn’t be the first time he has spent the night in a bedside chair, and likely it wouldn’t be the last.


	2. Chapter 2

Part II

Faramir POV, Following morning

Faramir awoke gradually, aware at first only that he was warm and safe. Since he was otherwise feeling achy, weak, and a bit sick to his stomach, he was pondering just going back to sleep. But the discordant note of not knowing exactly where he was nagged at him.

After several tries, he managed to open his sore eyes. Late morning light poured in through beautiful multi-faceted glass windows, which were open just the tiniest crack to admit a whisper of a cool breeze. A fire burned merrily in the marble fireplace, over the lintel of which hung a watercolor of Ithilien, one painted thousands of years ago.

With that, Faramir realized that he was in a guest bed chamber in the royal apartment, the same one in which he’d been sleeping in rather often of late. And as he realized that, Faramir also became aware that he wasn’t sleeping alone in the bed. Since Eowyn was in Emyn Arnen, that was a very disturbing development. As was the muscular, black and silver haired chest lying under Faramir’s cheek.

Then the figure shifted and half-stirred, patting Faramir’s back absently. Faramir sighed with relief, as he realized that the other person in bed with him was only his father the King. Faramir was being half-held against his father’s left side, with his head and shoulders lying against Aragorn’s chest, and Aragorn’s strong arm holding him there. That in itself was more than a little odd, and Faramir wondered how he had ended up in such a situation. Then Faramir began to remember the previous night…and groaned.

Aragorn’s arm tightened around him. Faramir felt the King’s lips brush the top of his head as tried to pull away. Faramir’s heart clenched at the affection he felt that he did not deserve. He could remember quite clearly how he had disgraced himself by getting sick all over the King his father. What Lord Denethor would have done if he’d even known of Faramir getting so drunk as to disgrace the family name, let alone the rest…Faramir could not even imagine.

But with Aragorn, well, all Faramir remembered after getting sick was being bathed and put to bed by an exasperated but unexpectedly kind Aragorn. Gimli had helped Legolas to bed by then, but Arwen had been there, for part of the time, fetching soft towels and dry night clothes for both Faramir and Aragorn, and occasionally brushing a soft, cool hand against Faramir’s brow. One of Aragorn’s guards had been there, too, helping Aragorn with Faramir. Faramir thought that it had been Angbor, who was a friend of Aragorn’s from his ranger days, and who had the annoying habit of speaking about Faramir as if he wasn’t there. Faramir could quite clearly remember Angbor telling Aragorn last night that if Faramir were his son, he would have arranged for the boy to have a nice, long vacation after how many men Faramir had lost at the end of the Ring War. Aragorn had replied noncommittally, but it had made Faramir want to punch Angbor, or more likely find something annoying and untraceable to do to the man later.

But now Faramir had to deal with the extremely awkward situation of waking up in his father’s arms, after having been brought to Aragorn drunk and battered and throwing up all over him. Blushing furiously, he began to sit up, only to have Aragorn pull him up into a seated position instead. Faramir scooted aside so that he could look his father in the face, fearing what he might see when he looked up. Aragorn huffed lightly, and reached out a hand to cup Faramir’s bruised chin gently, lifting it. To Faramir’s profound surprise and relief, Aragorn didn’t seem angry at all, at least not in contrast to the previous night. Now he seemed more tired, a bit worried, and more than a little bit amused.

“I hope that it was a great party,” the King said with a wry smile, “At least until you and Legolas managed to find trouble.”

“All reports indicate that it was.” Spoke an amused voice from the door. Faramir glanced over to see the Queen, clad in a simple but fine blue gown laced over a white chemise. Arwen’s hair was undressed, falling in dark waves. And though Faramir’s father’s wife could never look other than lovely, she did look poorly slept.

“Arwen, I am sorry,” Faramir began humbly, only to be waved to silence.

“It is no matter, Faramir.” Arwen replied, with a mischievous twinkle in her blue-gray eyes. “These things happen – or at least they frequently did, and sometimes still do, to my brothers.”

“Or in the COMPANY of your brothers.” Aragorn pointed out dryly, getting to his feet and then levering Faramir up into a standing position. With a little help from Faramir, but not too much, because honestly lying down had felt better. Faramir put a hand to his aching head.

“You’ll feel better after breakfast.” Aragorn said heartlessly, though his lips kept twitching into a smile.

Faramir really didn’t know if breakfast was a good idea or not. And besides, “I should really check on Legolas. And after that, I should make sure that everyone else I was with has reached the morning more-or-less intact.”

Aragorn raised a skeptical eyebrow, “Well, first off, if anything was wrong with Legolas, Gimli would have sent for me immediately. And secondly, you have your consequences to deal with, my young Prince.”

Faramir’s face flushed at that, and he felt a peculiar sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He also felt a sudden awareness of the lack of pain in his rear, a state which he feared could not endure for much longer.

“Aragorn meleth-nin, must you demand explanations of Faramir so fiercely before breakfast?” Arwen asked disapprovingly.

Aragorn gave his only son an apologetic look, which prompted Faramir to try again to avoid breakfast. His father merely gave him ‘the eyebrow’ again, and a new threat, “You will get up and breakfast with us, or you will stay in bed until you do eat.”

Shooting Faramir a sympathetic glance, Arwen left them to get dressed.

Faramir himself just sighed, although he had to fight an urge to grit his teeth and say “Yes, your Majesty.” Which he fully knew that his father hated. Faramir loved Aragorn, he did. He had since the first time they met, in the darkness within his own soul from which Aragorn had led him back to life and light. [awkward sentence] Despite that affection, gaining a father in the King had its rough patches. Something about Aragorn giving him commands in that firm, parental tone just drove Faramir crazy.  
And Faramir couldn’t even explain why, exactly. On the one hand, he thought that even feeling irritated made him an ungrateful wretch. There were certainly times when having a father who cared for him still felt like a gift that he had long since given up hoping could ever be his.

On the other hand, when he had been growing up he’d always had to rely on himself, or on his brother or his friends. He’d learned to survive and even thrive that way, learned to keep his head down and save his open opposition for when he had no other choice. And now Aragorn, in the midst of being affectionate, wanted to tell Faramir what he should do. And that made Faramir want to be excessively polite to Aragorn’s face, and then do whatever he’d intended to do anyway once the King’s attention was elsewhere. It was a parental/authority management technique which had worked very well for Faramir over the years. If he’d listened to Denethor or even some of his Captains, Faramir would have been dead a dozen times over by the time he was twenty.

However, Faramir was quite concerned that it was not going to work well for long with Aragorn. He was rather afraid that his father was going to bring up the guards issue again, in addition to whatever other aspects of the previous evening Aragorn would object to once Faramir explained them. Faramir sighed disconsolately.

“Chin up, ion-nin.” Aragorn urged, reaching out a friendly hand to pat Faramir on the hip (one of the Steward’s only unbruised body parts). “You’re not the first to get the worst of a bar fight.” The King’s face went from stern to sympathetic and then all the way to humbly apologetic. “I owe you an apology, Faramir. I should not have been so sharp with you last night.”

“You had every right to be so,” Faramir disagreed immediately, “My behavior was beyond defense, even before I…um,” Faramir couldn’t think of a dignified way to describe emptying his stomach all over his father.

Aragorn’s lips twitched into a teasing grin, “It is not the first time that I’ve been vomited on, Faramir. I am a healer, after all. And I should have recognized that you were in no state last night to do anything but be gently cared for and put to bed. I most humbly beg your pardon, for that.”

Which left Faramir not even knowing what to do. Oh, accept the apology, of course. But when Aragorn was like this…admitting to fault and wishing that he had been kinder still to his erring son…well, it made Faramir’s passive resistance seem even more ungrateful. As did his learning that Aragorn had been holding him while he slept for a specific reason, to make sure that if Faramir did vomit again during the night, he would not choke.

When they joined Arwen for breakfast in the smaller sun-lit dining room within the royal apartment, Faramir was feeling a little better about the idea of breakfast. Unfortunately, the maid, Bandes, who was serving the meal, did not seem to understand that Faramir’s relationship with strong-smelling foods such as bacon, eggs, and well-spiced vegetable medleys and sauces was a bit weak, this morning. It was kind of her to uncover every dish, of course, but he was gray-faced and swallowing back nausea by the time she had finished. And then she turned to bringing out fresh cinnamon pastries, and Faramir hoped that he would manage to get through this breakfast without disgracing himself again.

“Thank you, Baindes,” Arwen interrupted firmly, “But we do not need the cinnamon pastries as yet. Please do leave them covered.”

“Of course, your Majesty.” Baindes said, seeming sad that she wasn’t able to present to them the full wonder of the cinnamon rolls.

“Thank you for everything, Baindes. Especially for being forethoughtful enough to bring the coffee, since Prince Faramir is joining us.”

Baindes curtseyed, and remained in the room for a few moments, as if hoping that an invitation to stay and refill cups of juice and tea would be forthcoming. Her shoulders slumped a bit as it was not, and she curtseyed again before leaving the room.

“Poor girl.” Faramir said softly, sipping carefully at a glass of water.

“I’m sorry that our desire to eat breakfast in private like any normal family causes her grief,” Aragorn began brusquely, while serving Faramir a full plate of eggs, bacon, and sausage, “But I thought that we had agreed to ask that the kitchen only send up trays, so that Faramir’s careful, detailed retelling of exactly what it was that he was up to last night could be aired in private.”

Faramir sighed, but nonetheless obediently began eating his breakfast. To his relief, the substantial, somewhat greasy food actually seemed to be settling his stomach.

“We had agreed, but it was Baindes’ day to serve us breakfast, and she cries when we call only for trays.” Arwen replied.

“Arwen, you can’t change what you want to do for breakfast just because Baindes is a sweet-tempered, competent young lady who is unfortunately prone to fits of tears.” Aragorn said sternly.

“Hmm.” Faramir interjected, as Aragorn covertly moved more food onto his plate, “Perhaps the mere fact that Arwen does care about such things results in her being better informed of household, Citadel, and city gossip.”

Aragorn narrowed his eyes at his son while Arwen hid a smile.

“Perhaps,” Aragorn suggested after a moment, “You would like to begin your explanation of what, exactly, transpired last night.”

Faramir took another sip of water. He had been hoping to continue to avoid this part. “The evening started out well enough,” he began, remembering the events as he described him to his father and Arwen. The previous evening had begun no differently than a number of other evenings over the past month, with Legolas coming to meet Faramir in his quarters before going out to enjoy some night-time activity, on nights during which they were both at liberty and neither had duties too early in the morning.

It was pleasant for Faramir to share some of the best aspects of his city with his new friend the elven Prince. Faramir’s nights were otherwise consumed with: either longing to still be at Emyn Arnen with the pregnant Eowyn; or nobly battling to get through paperwork and reports (some of which were properly Aragorn’s purview, but the King was not the best when it came to paperwork); or with fighting Aragorn’s attempts to curtail Faramir from working late into the night; or with spending time with his new father and Arwen. Which was quite nice, actually, and good even when it was difficult. But it was difficult, sometimes, and excursions with Legolas were a welcome form of stress-release for Faramir, and he thought for Legolas as well.

In the past several weeks, they had gone to music performances under the stars put on by Faramir’s friends who were musicians, or amateur musicians. They had moved through the hidden passages of the city to track the best views of the moon as it rose over Minas Tirith.

One night they had spent in the archives. It was one of Faramir’s favorite places in the city, but he could tell that it was not Legolas’, so they did not return there again save briefly, on the night after one of Faramir’s friends amongst the archivists had located a book of wood-cuts from the War of the Last Alliance. Several of them had depicted the warriors of Greenwood’s army, and Legolas had been moved to see images of his father, grandfather, and their companions during that earlier war. Gimli had been moved as well, and Faramir thought that it had been a good thing that he was there, as Legolas seemed a bit homesick after seeing his family in the wood-cuts. Gimli accompanied them on most of their first excursions about the city, although as the days passed into weeks he was more often too occupied with his work to join them.

Some nights, or days when he could take a few hours off, Faramir simply introduced Legolas to the best hidden corners of Minas Tirith, the restaurants with the best food and the gardens with the best views. Places where the signs of the elves who had once helped to build the city of Minas Tirith were still evident, in trees which they had planted, and in mosaics and sculptures they had left behind. Faramir had been thoroughly enjoying Legolas’ company on these excursions, it reminded Faramir rather of having his youngest cousin Amrothos along.

Last night, Faramir and Legolas had been promised to attend a star viewing high up on Mount Mindolluin with several astronomy scholars of Faramir’s acquaintance. That had been the plan, but during the afternoon one of Boromir’s old sergeants had come to Faramir, and asked the Steward if he could please attend the party celebrating the promotion to Captain of Lieutenant Cylldun, who had also once been one of Boromir’s former sergeants.

For a non-commissioned officer of low birth such as a sergeant to be raised to the rank of Lieutenant, let alone Captain, was an astoundingly rare feat. It was a sign and a victory of the ‘classless’ military system which Denethor, in his early days, had pioneered, and which Boromir and Faramir and many of their classmates had fostered. Boromir would have been the first to attend such a party. He would have bought the ale and been the first to raise his glass to Cylldun’s promotion. He would have been the last man on the dance floor, the last to stop drinking…basically the life of the party. But he would also have been as proud of Cylldun’s achievement as if Boromir had invented Cylldun himself.

Faramir would be a poor second, but he owed it to Cylldun, and to those other brave men who had served under his brother, to at the least make an appearance, make a toast, buy a keg of ale, and dance in joy at the occasion. But that left Faramir with the problem of how to explain to Legolas that the star-viewing he knew that the elf had been anticipating was off…

Fortunately, it turned out that Legolas was more than happy to attend a party for one of Boromir’s men. So off went Faramir and Legolas a little after moonrise, to join the party.

“Hmm.” Aragorn interjected at that point, more inquisitive than angry, “Did you make sure that Gimli knew that Legolas was going to go this party with you?”

Faramir blinked, “I…did not. Should I have?”

“Probably yes.” Aragorn drawled. “As Gimli is present in the capacity of Legolas’ guardian, and Legolas is probably the equivalent of a human seventeen.”

“More sixteen, or even a late fifteen.” Arwen interrupted, with a sympathetic glance towards Faramir. “I know that you were trying to do your best, Faramir dear.”

Faramir really had been. He hadn’t wanted to insult Legolas again by presuming the elven hero to be a mere youth. If Legolas had been a human teenager, of course Faramir would have asked Gimli’s permission for Legolas to accompany him to Cylldun’s promotion party. But after having stepped on the elf’s feet before, after having been reminded several times a week for the past month that Legolas had been a warrior before Faramir had been a gleam in his grandfather’s eye, well, Faramir hadn’t even though to ask Legolas if perhaps it would be best for them to check in with Gimli. Faramir sighed. It seemed as if he had, unknowingly, erred again. He suspected that Gimli must be very unhappy with him on poor Legolas’ behalf, and Faramir didn’t blame the dwarf.

“I will speak with Gimli, Faramir.” Aragorn offered, “You erred in good conscience, and perhaps Gimli can give us some advice as to how we can help him to keep our favorite teenaged elven hero safe while at the same time enabling him to enjoy himself.”

“Thank you, Aragorn.” Faramir said gratefully.

“You are welcome, ion-nin.” Aragorn said with a fond smile, before his expression turned stern again, “Now that we have settled that, perhaps you can explain how this party turned from a small get-together into an all-out brawl.”

“It was never a ‘small’ party, but it is still a long story, Sire.” Faramir said weakly, then winced at the daggers in Aragorn’s eyes. Aragorn hated it when Faramir used any of Aragorn’s official kingly titles in private. Faramir, for his part, just really didn’t know what to call the man. Calling Aragorn by name seemed disrespectful, and Faramir was by no means ready to call him ‘father.’ Aragorn had offered that, but it was still too strange. So Faramir did what he had learned as a child, and reverted to the more formal title when in doubt. Only that didn’t seem to please with Aragorn.

“Er…sorry. It really is a long story, Aragorn.”

“Then you had best begin.” The King commanded, pouring Faramir another glass of water. Faramir sighed again, and helped himself to a cup of coffee. Aragorn’s lips thinned at that, but he let it go, merely motioning for Faramir to get on with the story. Arwen’s lips, on the other hand, were pursed in amusement. She took a sip of her tea to hide her merriment. With that encouragement, Faramir began again.

“Even the party went well enough at first. Cylldun and his wife greeted us when we arrived, and I exchanged greetings with many men who had served with my brother, introducing them to Legolas. There was dancing, not only the modern dances but also the old dances of Numenor.” Faramir paused in thought, surprised that he had managed to drink all of his water. His father merely smiled lightly, and poured more.

“I remember learning those, when I was a child in our father’s home.” Aragorn recalled to Arwen, “And then learning them again, when I was a young man in Gondor. Some of them from your mother and fath…from Finduilas and Denethor, that is.”

“Yes, well,” Faramir continued after an awkward pause, “It had been some time since I had last danced thusly,”

“I really do need to organize more parties.” Arwen murmured quietly.

Father’s eyes met son’s over Arwen’s head, and both immediately assured her that she did a fine job of organizing social events, and that their calendar was more than sufficiently full with said events.

“Never mind.” Arwen quieted them with a soft, secretive smile, “I’m sure that I will find some suitable occasions for revelry in the near future. Do continue, Faramir. I must admit that I, too, am curious to know how you went from dancing at Cylldun’s grandfather’s home to being embroiled in a brawl and arrested.”

“Detained,” Faramir corrected, “Not arrested.” At the skeptical faces confronting him, Faramir sighed and continued as he had been bid, “We drank and danced for several hours, in the garden adjacent to home of Cylldun’s father.” Faramir paused, remembering the dancing.

The garden had been well-lit by the moon and by lanterns hanging in the trees. An old song of lost Numenor played, and the men danced in a linked chain, first flying apart from one another and then whirling back together. The women mirrored them, their skirts flying out in rhythm. The whole scene, if timed correctly by the dancers, would appear from above as if it were one of the beautiful seals of the Eldar or Edain brought to brilliant life.

Legolas’ attention seemed riveted to the sight. “It is both like and unlike our own dances, Faramir mellon-nin.” He breathed in surprise.

Faramir held out his hand with a grin, “Come join it, then.”

“I think not.” Legolas said regretfully, “They knew their steps well, and I would not want to add a poor note to the score.” Then, impishly, Legolas added, “At least not until I have had a few more moments to observe, at which point I will be able to join in, footfall perfect.”

Laughing, Faramir left his elven friend to prove his boast true. Cylldun’s friend Forodras pulled Faramir into the dance, and after a few moments of remembering which leap went after which lunge, Faramir fell into the rhythm of the dance. He didn’t even notice when Legolas first came to dance at his side. But by the time they reached the point in the dance which Boromir had loved best, Legolas was there. It was so terribly bittersweet. Faramir missed his brother with every leap of his body and beat of his heart, but oh, this is what Boromir would have wanted, if he could not be here.

At the conclusion of that dance, Cylldun’s wife Rhosiel approached Faramir and Legolas.

“Bravo, Prince Legolas!” She complimented him, “I had no idea that any of the ringbearers would know the dances of our ancestors who came over the seas.”

Legolas merely smiled and demurred. Faramir grinned and explained to Rhosiel, “It was the first time he has ever danced thusly.”

“Then you shall be my partner for this next set.” Rhosiel insisted, as the minstrels began a modern fast-paced tune. Legolas seemed taken-aback but game. During a break before the next round of dancing, Faramir took the opportunity to put a quiet word  
in Rhosiel’s ear, about how Legolas had been both intimidated and appalled by the blatant and aggressive flirting employed by the young maidens of Gondor. Rhosiel’s pretty gray eyes had darkened with embarrassment for her fellow ladies of Gondor, and sympathy for the young Prince. Legolas danced for much of the night, and during the dances which were not traditionally segregated by gender, Legolas had found himself surrounded by an honor guard of Gondor’s young wives and widows. They were excellent dancers, and had no agenda beyond trying to help Boromir’s companion on the quest to have some well-deserved fun in their city.

 

Meanwhile, Faramir had been accosted with boisterous gaiety by Cylldun, and Boromir’s other former officers. Sitting in their midst and reminiscing about his brother, Faramir found himself drinking toast after toast to Boromir’s memory. The time when Faramir would normally have left the merriment came, and passed.

“Its nice to have you join us, like this.” Cylldun confessed drunkenly, a comradely arm about Faramir’s shoulder. “You were always so quiet and solemn, when we saw you. Mostly you were away at your post, when you came home you were thin and tired and Captain Boromir didn’t want to let you out of his sight. You came with him to the bars and the parties, aye, as you are here tonight. But you barely drank at all, always at attention, always tense like a bowstring. Often caring of your brother when he’d had too much to drink.”

“He did tend to do that, yes.” Faramir agreed, his head whirling. He’d already drunk far more ale and wine that night than he’d ever consumed before in his life. Normally, Faramir was very careful to limit himself to only one or two alcoholic drinks. He didn’t want to be incapacitated or have his judgment compromised, and he knew from the few times he had gotten drunk with his brother and his cousins as teenagers that he did not have a particularly good tolerance for intoxicating beverages. Since the war was over, he’d been a little more willing to have an extra drink, but not ten or twelve or however many he’d already consumed that night.

On a different night, he would have been dancing with Eowyn, and might have left with her early had she wished to. Had Eowyn already been with him in Minas Tirith (as he wished that she was, but someone had to close down the house in Emyn Arnen, and it was a more relaxing place for the pregnant Eowyn), Faramir would have left the party quite early because he didn’t want to leave his pregnant wife alone for more of the night than he had to for duty’s sake. But this night, Faramir had come alone save for Legolas, who seemed happily occupied, and who, when he joined Faramir and the other officers, was happy to raise a glass or five to the memory of Boromir.

The rest of the night began to blur for Faramir. He did remember Legolas speaking quietly with Sergeant Forodras at one point.

“There is no need, Sergeant. I can see both Faramir and myself back to the Citadel well enough.” Legolas had assured Forodras and the other officers, with a fond but exasperated glance for the drunken Faramir which Faramir really hadn’t understood at the time. Faramir hadn’t realized that he was more than a little drunk. He’d never been that drunk before, so he had no frame of reference.

Forodras hadn’t had much to drink, but he was a genial, boisterous fellow, much as Boromir had been. He slung a companionable arm about Legolas’ slender shoulders, and insisted, “Nay, Boromir’s ghost would rise up and upbraid us. We’ll take good care of Boromir’s baby brother, and your highness as well, and that includes seeing you safely back to his Highness’s quarters.”

“Probably,” Aragorn interjected wryly, “The insightful Forodras meant that he would escort you to your privy, Faramir, the better to ensure that you did not die of excessive alcohol consumption.”

Blushing, Faramir half-explained, half-objected, “I’m not in the habit of becoming falling down drunk, Aragorn. Really, last night was the first time ever.” Faramir’s blush deepened as he remembered his older brother’s reaction to Faramir being detained with several drunk and disorderly friends, back when they had been just a few months out of the academy. Sixteen year old Faramir had at least had the sense to ask the guards’ to call one of his friend’s older brothers, rather than his father Denethor or even his own brother. Not because Faramir hadn’t wanted to face Boromir – well, he hadn’t, but he’d known that it would be inevitable. But rather because the Steward’s heir being called to a guard station might have been marked, but the Steward’s heir accompanying a friend to the guard station was of much less interest. Boromir had asked the guard sergeant to give them a moment in his office, and he’d started Faramir’s spanking then. Bent over his brother’s hip, with his hands supporting himself on the sergeant’s desk, Faramir had done his best to stay still and quiet as his brother’s hard hand landed swat after stinging swat on his hindquarters. Boromir hadn’t been angry about the drinking so much as about Faramir’s getting caught doing it, because if Denethor had learned of the matter, Faramir would have been in real trouble.

Calling Faramir’s attention back to the here and now, Aragorn snorted, and wryly agreed, “It is quite clear that you are not an experienced drunk, ion-nin. Nor do I mind if you enjoy yourself, although if you wish to overindulge again, by all means invite me or someone trustworthy to make sure that you get home safely. And do not do so more often – if I ever think that you are turning to drink as a crutch for other troubles, I will help you with your problems and you will not like how I do.”

“I’m never planning to drink that much again.” Faramir assured his father.

Arwen laughed lightly, “If I had a coin for every time my brothers said the same thing, I could afford to build my own brewery.” Fondly, she added, “Do not be afraid to drink, Faramir dear. Just learn your limits, and do bring a trusted friend or several with you. And not just poor teenage Legolas.”

Aragorn gently kicked Faramir’s leg, “For that matter, why didn’t you just invite me? I’ll have you know that I can be lots of fun at parties. And I, too, cared for your brother.” Faramir knew that Aragorn also signed the order for Cylldun’s promotion.

“I’m sorry,” Faramir replied, rather wondering the same thing. “It honestly did not occur to me, but I do hate to interrupt the few evenings which the two of you have to yourselves.”

The King and Queen looked to one another for a moment, and then Arwen answered, “That is very thoughtful of you, Faramir muin nin. But you are never an interruption.”

“Almost never.” Aragorn corrected, his eyes twinkling as he remembered a certain night which Faramir had interrupted due to an urgent affair of state. Arwen blushed, and Faramir thought that she might have kicked his father under the table. Aloud, Arwen only cautioned, “Don’t invite yourself, Aragorn meleth. After all, being who we are, we might have inhibited their fun.”

“Not necessarily.” Aragorn retorted easily, “I’ve gone out in the city – no, not alone, don’t give me that look, either of you – But I’ve gone out in the city as simply Aragorn the ranger.” The King turned to his wife with a soft smile that made Faramir feel as if he were intruding on something intimate, “Would you be willing to be seen as just the wife of a ranger, oh my star of the evening?”

“I would have wed a mere ranger long, long ago, had my father not made me wait for a King.” Arwen answered breathily, and her eyes twinkled like stars as she gazed into her beloved’s eyes. They stared at one another for long enough that Faramir wondered if perhaps he ought just quietly leave, and come back later.

Before he could decide, the royal couple blinked and seemed to remember his presence.

“Ah…” Faramir extemporized, not sure if Aragorn wanted an answer to his last question or not, “It would be….ah… nice to go out in the city together. The next party I’m invited to, I will definitely ask if I can bring a ranger friend and his wife.” And their bodyguards, thought Faramir to himself, as well as perhaps one or two of Arwen’s ladies. They could all go out on the town just as if they were any other normal family, Valar help them.

“Just finish your story, ion-nin.” Aragorn instructed, torn between annoyance and amusement. Faramir hoped that he would remain so calm for this part of the story.

“My memory of what happened next is somewhat unclear,” Faramir began again, ignoring his father’s snort and murmur that he was not at all surprised, “I recall vaguely giving Forodras, Cylldun’s brother, and several others some coin to buy another cask of wine from a nearby bar. But not all of them came back, and those that did returned at a run, without the wine.” Faramir remembered trying to gather his scattered faculties, the expressions on the returning faces having been enough to make him realize that something was wrong, even in his inebriated state.

“Some of our army lads are mixing it up with the off-duty city guard!” Forodras had bellowed, “Your brother got caught up in the mess, Cylldun, as did your man, Lord Forlos.”

Cylldun swore vehemently, and quickly recruited a dozen or so late party-goers to go with him and break up the fracas. The man had real leadership potential, Faramir remembered remarking drunkenly to Legolas.

“This seems like a bad idea.” Legolas had replied, offering an arm to help Faramir to his feet.

“Someone should go for the on-duty guard.” Someone had suggested, and Faramir rather thought it might have been himself, since he remembered everyone turning to stare at him at that point. Although it might have just been the stare of, ‘You’re the highest ranking man here. So, what should we do?’ Faramir got that one rather a lot, too. The good thing about hanging about with Aragorn, is that sometimes Aragorn got it, instead.

“Captain Cylldun, go for the guard.” Faramir had commanded, swaying. Some part of him realized that Cylldun going to break up the riot, if his baby brother was caught up in it, would be a very bad idea.

“Who will lead the group who goes to try and break the up the brawl before the guard comes, and it ends up on records?” Cylldun retorted.

“Um. I will, I suppose.” Faramir had offered, and it had made sense to him at the time.

“This is really not going to end well.” Commented Legolas, but he refused to stay behind even though Faramir remembered helpfully suggesting it at least once.

The next thing Faramir remembered was their group trying to break up the fight. They didn’t have sufficient numbers to get the combatants to stand down by force, and the fighters were too drunk or adrenaline-blind to hear Faramir’s and the other officers’ declaration of their names and orders to stand down. Faramir remembered seeing Forlos knocked down, and entering into the fracas himself, Legolas beside him. After that, all he could remember was trying to stay upright and get between the off-duty army men and off-duty guards, and get them to stop fighting long enough to listen. He remembered Legolas getting knocked down and stepped on, and kneeling down to try and pull his friend to his feet.

Then the on-duty guards arrived, and they did have the numbers to end the riot by force. Only they weren’t discerning between the men who had started the fight, and those who had been drawn into it while trying to break it up. Faramir couldn’t really blame them, which was part of why he went along being taken to the guard station and confined in a cell along with Boromir’s former officers and the men who had started the brawl. Most of the other detainees DID know that he was the Steward, Forlos the Lord of Lossarnach’s youngest brother, and several other high-ranking officers of the army, as they’d been announcing their identities loudly enough, trying to break up the fight. But no one said anything, probably figuring that if they wanted to be identified and processed differently, they could have easily said something at any time. Faramir did have enough presence of mind to speak to one of the guard officers, in order to have the wide-eyed Legolas taken back into the main reception area and treated as any other minor.

What Faramir had thought would happen, is that Lord Gimli would be summoned and he would take Legolas back to the Citadel, where Faramir could check on him the next day. Faramir had not expected Gimli to end his anonymity and collect him, as well. The poor guard station had all been in an uproar when he left, and Faramir had felt quite badly for them, all things considered.

Pausing, Faramir looked out the window at the height of the sun in the sky, and winced. “I should really make sure that Boromir’s men survived the night.” He began to rise, but sat back down when Arwen immediately offered.

“They’re all fine.” She grinned mischievously, “You were in good company in that cell, Faramir. Two young Lords of Gondor, five other Captains of Gondor, and two master smiths were all arrested at the riot. Shortly after one of the detainees was excused, that would be you, Faramir dear.” Arwen supplied, continuing, “The guards more carefully questioned everyone they had arrested. All of the detainees were very honest about what had happened, so those who had only been trying to break up the riot were released to friends and family members, with word of the incident sent to their superiors. Those responsible for the brawl were likewise released, but not until later that morning after they had been sentenced to six swats with a paddle and two weeks’ worth of service with the city repair crews.”

“How did you learn that?” Aragorn queried his wife, taken aback that his wife’s intelligence-gathering had been at least as effective as his own.

“Meddwyn.” Arwen answered, tossing her hair. “And Baindes.”

Faramir nodded, wincing again as he realized that Meddwyn had been the lady-in-waiting who saw him and Legolas both so disheveled the previous evening. For his father, who still seemed a bit lost, Faramir elaborated, “Meddwyn is the older sister of the new Lord of Lossarnach. Her youngest brother was with us.”

“And Baindes’ cousin is one of the off-duty guardsmen who started the riot, after an army corporal alleged that they had a soft, easy lifestyle compared to the “army proper.’” Arwen supplied, with another grin for her husband.

“Peace, Arwen.” Aragorn offered, seeming more proud of his wife than annoyed at being out-done. Leaning back to regard his son, Aragorn supplied, “I have the guard Captain who arrested you scheduled to meet with me this afternoon. But do tell me, Faramir. What was your brilliant plan for avoiding being sentenced with the others, oh my son the strategist?

“None.” Faramir replied, ignoring his father’s sarcasm. “The sentencing would have been finished by early this morning, I could have returned this morning before I was missed. It is seventh day, and neither of us have set duties.” Since Aragorn had recently ended Faramir’s habit of spending his seventh days while in Minas Tirith working in his office.

Aragorn slammed his hands down on the table in front of Faramir. “Wrong answer, ion nin. Your misdeeds are my responsibility, and if you get hurt I by Eru want to know about it, so that I can tend to you myself or see you tended.” Faramir wanted to dispute that, but before he could, Aragorn leaned forward even further. “However, that is not the first mistake you made last night. What in the name of all the Valar were you thinking, running into a full-fledged riot with not even a dozen men, and taking Legolas with you!”

“Well, I shouldn’t have brought Legolas into it, I admit.” Faramir actually felt very badly, about that, particularly given the broken ribs that poor Legolas had sustained.

Aragorn straightened, crossing his arms and raising a skeptical eyebrow at Faramir. “And yet it was fine for you to go flinging yourself into the fray, was it?”

“Fine enough.” Faramir countered, feeling rather reckless, “And, beyond the injury to Legolas, and the disgrace I have put upon my office, it is really not your affair, your Majesty.”

“Oh, you think so, do you?” Aragorn replied slowly, with unnatural calm. “Well, my insubordinate son, let me assure you….”

“I am not being insubordinate, my Lord King.” Faramir interrupted heedlessly, “On the contrary, what I do when I am off-duty as Steward and Prince and Captain is my own look-out.”

Aragorn seemed at a loss for words. Faramir was unhappily certain that it would only be temporary.

“Perhaps I should excuse myself and let the two of you work this out,” Arwen interjected quietly, “But I feel the need to point out, Faramir, that your safety is of the utmost importance to Eowyn as well.” That was true, and Arwen knew, from visiting Emyn Arnen with Faramir a week ago, that Eowyn was also with child. It was still early on in the pregnancy and there had been some complications, so the three of them had agreed to wait until the time of highest risk of losing the babe had passed before informing anyone else, including the King.

Thinking of that, Faramir corrected, “Well, my affair, and Eowyn’s. And while you are right that I should not have involved Legolas, I feel that I judged aright – it was not dangerous for me. No one was trying to hurt any one else, it was just a disagreement that got out of hand.”

“No one was trying, and yet Gimli brought Legolas to me with broken ribs, and you with multiple contusions and cuts.” Aragorn replied acidly, before raising his voice again, “Faramir, that many men, that out of control, ANYTHING COULD HAVE HAPPENED. How dare you say to me that you would do the same thing again, and that I have no call to say you nay!”

“You have already decided what you are going to do. My opinion does not seem to be of importance to you.” Faramir replied, quiet but incalcitrant.

Aragorn cursed, throwing his hands up in the air. Then his face darkened with renewed anger. As Faramir had feared, the King had just thought of something that made him even more furious with his newly-found son “Come to think of it, Faramir,” the King asked in a dangerously quiet voice, “where were the guards I had ordered to accompany you when you went about the city, even when you are not on duty?”

Faramir had really hoped that Aragorn wouldn’t think of that, but he’d already thought of a defense before the first of many times he had disregarded that order in the last month, “I thought that your Majesty had meant that you wanted me to be accompanied by your guards only AFTER I am publicly proclaimed as your heir.” Faramir answered carefully.

“You most certainly did not think that, you disingenuous, devious youth.” Aragorn countered, regarding Faramir with displeasure, “Instead, you have been actively defying me on this point for weeks. Disobeying orders that I gave you, to keep you safe.”

“It was really more of a strongly worded request, rather than an order.” Faramir tried again.

That was, apparently, too much for the King, who reached over to haul Faramir to his feet. The expression on the King’s face was furious, but his grip on Faramir’s upper arm was only firm, not harsh or painful.

“I should paddle you, for disobeying me thusly. In addition to the other talk we are going to have about you throwing yourself and our friend into a riot.” Aragorn told his son, very angry but still gentle. Well, gentle except for the firm swat he applied to Faramir’s hesitating backside.

Faramir found himself unaccountably angry. He did not know why, he’d expected this very result from the moment he woke up this morning. It wasn’t just the presence of Arwen as Aragorn berated him and promised to spank him soundly, although that did embarrass and upset him. It was more complicated than that, but even Faramir inwardly blanched at the words which came out of his mouth next, “Go ahead, your Majesty. It would not be the first time which I have been punished despite my protests. I ask only that you leave me able to work tomorrow, else we will both be in trouble come Third Day council session. Or at the least send for a healer after you are through with me.”

At that, Aragorn dropped Faramir’s arm as if it had burned him. “What…what did you say?” The King gaped.

Faramir took several steps away, knowing that he had been unfair, had gone too far, but not knowing how to fix it.

Arwen appeared suddenly before Faramir, patting his shoulder on the way to comfort her husband.

“I think that you both need some time to think before you discuss this matter further.” Arwen commanded quietly. “Faramir, do you go and check on Legolas as you had intended.”

And so that was what Faramir did.


	3. Chapter 3

 

**Part III**

**[Legolas POV]**

 

Legolas shifted slightly and was instantly reminded by the pain in his chest that broken ribs were exceedingly uncomfortable. Letting his eyes refocus, he turned his head to where Gimli had been seated earlier and found the chair empty.

 

For a moment Legolas panicked, and then he remembered his dwarven guardian waking him to let Legolas know that he must go down to the gates to see how the work was progressing. Gimli had promised to return as soon as he could, which had made Legolas feel guiltier than ever, for he knew that the work on the new gates was at a critical stage, and he also knew that Gimli would want to oversee it personally.

 

He shifted again. Since no one was around to hear him, he allowed himself a hiss as the pain flared again.

 

Lying still was the obvious way to prevent further discomfort, but stubborn determination caused Legolas to struggle into a sitting position with his back against the wooden headboard. Once the room had ceased spinning, and he thought he had his stomach under control again (for some reason it appeared determined to rid itself of any food or drink Legolas had consumed in the last day), Legolas opened his eyes.

 

From the position of the sun, which he could just make out through the drawn shutters, he judged it was either very late morning or early afternoon. And here he was confined to his bed for at least another twelve hours or so, with nothing better to do than remember - and regret - the happenings of the last night.

 

Sighing softly, he let his mind wander over the events of the evening, trying to pinpoint when a celebration for the promotion of one of Boromir’s old sergeants had turned into an out and out brawl.

 

It was not the first brawl Legolas had been involved in; anyone who rode in the company of the twin brethren or their younger mortal brother and his rangers would at some time find themselves tussling with others who had for some strange reason taken offence at an innocuous remark, or who had been looking for an excuse to fight.

Warriors’ off-duty, even those in his father’s realm, could be remarkably touchy over a misplaced comment or a badly timed jest, and very quick to show that displeasure to those who had ‘offended’ their honor.

 

It was not even the first time Legolas had ended up being hauled off to spend time in a gaol. He had once spent two nights incarcerated in a lock up in Lake Town, but there at least he had been in a cell of his own, and had not been forced to share with a wide variety of other offenders some of whom seemed to have no interest in the use of soap and water.

 

Still, Legolas would have preferred to have  remained where he was, rather than have Faramir persuade the guards to remove him. Unlike Faramir, Legolas had no concerns for his safety. Even with broken ribs he had felt confident enough to be able to hold off any unwanted interest. While it was a general rule that weaponry not be carried within the city, Legolas still had two throwing knives in special sheathes within his boots, which the arresting guards had not noticed. He wished now that he had been given an opportunity to prove that he was more than capable of protecting himself. Perhaps by giving an example of his knife wielding skills to those in the cells, or even to the guards themselves, he could have stopped what he could only see now as his imminent humiliation.

 

For after last night’s debacle every guard and warrior in the city would look upon Legolas with different eyes. How could they not, now that they now knew for fact that he was underage and still in the charge of a guardian. The soldiers and guards would begin to be careful in what they said to him or what they did around him. They would in all likelihood refuse to invite him to the sort of celebration that he had so enjoyed in the early part of the last evening. It was all so unfair, and unjustified. If only Faramir had kept quiet.

 

Legolas’ brows furrowed as he thought things over. It was bad enough that the members of the Fellowship, Arwen and her ladies, and Faramir knew of his true age and situation without it being broadcast throughout all Minas Tirith.

 

Faramir may as well have made it a public proclamation, Legolas thought sourly. Something like, ‘Hear ye, hear ye to all remaining here on Arda be advised that Legolas Thranduilion is still considered a child by his kin and should be treated thusly’.

 

Yet here in Gondor, boys of fourteen were deemed more than ready to fight in defense of their city. They were taken in and trained; no one said they were too young. In Rohan, boys even younger had stood on the battlements of Helms Deep, and no one had considered them to be ‘children in need of being protected’ but because he was an elf he was treated differently.

 

It was so unfair; he had worked really hard to be accepted on merit. He was a more talented warrior and a deal more experienced than most of the mortals he had come into contact with since leaving Imladris on the quest. Had he not brought down a Nazgul and a Mumak unaided, had he not fought at the Black Gate and been part of the army who had defeated the dark forces of Sauron.

 

But all of those deeds seemed to count as naught to those whose charge he now was. They seemed determined to keep his wrapped in cotton and away from anything that might remotely seem like fun.

 

Not he admitted that the end of last evening had been fun. But how many others of those caught up in that brawl would find themselves being placed back into the care of their guardians he wondered. He wagered the number would be few, and his scowl grew as he changed that last to none!

 

He gave a heavy sigh which he instantly regretted, trust him to end up with broken ribs. Oh he knew that the man who had trodden on his chest had probably not intended to damage him as he had. He had most likely just stumbled, for most of those involved had been drinking heavily and were less than steady on their feet, as a consequence.

 

He should have been more aware, Legolas told himself. But he had been so caught up in trying to protect Faramir, who was in the midst of things, from being hurt that he had not taken sufficient care of what was happening around him. Having just managed to prevent Faramir from being hit over the head with a raised bar stool by the simple expedient of wrenching the ‘weapon’ from the would be assailant’s hands, Legolas had failed to see the body hurtling towards him and had himself been knocked to the floor where he had then been trodden on.

 

It was an all too familiar tale; he had been doing his best for others and then found himself being injured and no doubt in trouble because of it. Still he would not speak of how the injury came about, for Faramir would likely feel guilty, and there was enough guilt to be spread around as it was.

 

He sighed again but this time more gently, and wondered how the Steward was feeling this morning; at the very least he would be suffering from the after-effects of a monstrous hangover.

 

The man had drunk a great deal of wine and ale during the celebrations, far more than Legolas had thought sensible. Legolas himself had a very good tolerance of alcohol. A smirk crossed his face as he recalled beating Gimli in the drinking game in the Golden Hall. But Legolas rather thought that Faramir did not usually imbibe as much as he had last night.

 

Despite what he considered as Faramir’s faux-pas at announcing to the world that the elven prince was underage, he was grateful that Gimli had insisted on bringing Faramir back with them to the Citadel, and placing him into the care of the king. Faramir had been in a bad way, suffering from two black eyes and a variety of cuts and contusions. He had certainly been in need of both a fathers and a healer’s care.

 

Aragorn had been shocked at the state his newly acknowledged son and his friend were in when Gimli had demanded his presence in the early hours of the morning. But any thoughts of giving either of them a lecture or worse had been stalled when Faramir had cast up his accounts into Aragorn’s lap.

 

That had been quite funny. Legolas was not certain who had been the most appalled, poor Faramir or Aragorn. Unfortunately, he had not been granted the opportunity to find out for Gimli had propelled him on his way to his own bedchamber and soon had him tucked up in bed and warned him to remain there.

 

This memory brought his thinking round full circle and all of his earlier dejection over his treatment returned.

 

He had thought he and Faramir were friends, and equals. After their initial misunderstandings over each other’s capabilities they had formed a strong bond.

Faramir had been kind enough to take him around the White City. With Gimli busy and Aragorn now fully immersed in ‘Kingship,’ it had meant a great deal to Legolas to have a friend who was happy to spend time with him for himself alone. And not be forever keeping an eye on him because of his age or lack thereof.

 

But Faramir’s actions in the detention house had shown that his trust in that equality was probably misplaced. Faramir, it seemed, was just another mortal intent on keeping the thoughtless, hapless elfling out of trouble and danger. Something which Legolas definitely did NOT need and was not prepared to accept.

 

Why did everyone believe that he was not capable of looking out for himself, when it was sometimes very much the other way round? He was not the one who had over imbibed and had needed an escort back to the Citadel. Legolas remembered Sergeant Forodras asking him about it, and seeming happy enough to leave Faramir in Legolas’ hands. Would he do so now he knew all there was to know about the elf? Legolas somehow doubted it.

 

And it just wasn’t fair. Legolas had really enjoyed the early part of the evening, the camaraderie, meeting and talking with some of the men who had served with Boromir. Learning and taking part in the dances, dances that reminded him of some of his favorite measures at home. He had even felt comfortable talking to the ladies who had surrounded him, especially Cylldun’s wife Rhosiel. But then everything had gone awry not through his fault, he hastened to remind himself, for had he not said … _“This is really not going to end well.”_

 

And had he not been proved correct but would anyone ever acknowledge his foresight he rather thought not!

 

Huffing in what others would have undoubtedly described in a manner that was very reminiscent of a petulant elfling, Legolas folded his arms across his chest, yelped and then glowered at the door as if blaming it for every ill in his world.

 

It was perhaps not the most providential time for Faramir to knock and ask to enter …

 

“Legolas may I come in?”

 

“Would it make any difference to you if I said no?” Legolas grunted as the door opened and Faramir appeared.

 

He was pleased to note that Faramir looked little better than he did, his face was swollen and he had two black eyes. He looked Legolas tipped his head to one side, trying to decide on the correct terminology to describe Faramir’s pallor. Well frankly he couldn’t do better than call it ‘sick’.

 

“I came to see how you were this morning and to apologize for getting you involved in that fracas last evening; it was not well done of me.”

 

Oh of course, an apology for taking the ‘elfling’ where he should not have been, how typical. Legolas lifted his chin, “I believe I managed myself equally as well as any other there, and better than most.”

 

Faramir looked a little surprised at this response but hurried to agree, “Indeed; your fighting skills are second to none. It is a pity that you fell and cracked your ribs; I know how painful such an injury can be.”

 

“I did not ‘fall’ I was pushed over and that would never have happened save …” Legolas stopped speaking and struggled with his conscience for several seconds, for it was telling him very plainly that it was wrong to place the blame for his injuries upon his mortal friend. It was not Faramir’s fault that the brawl had started, and an elven warrior did not complain of injuries obtained during battle. He took a breath, hissed as his ribs complained and continued haughtily. “Elves heal quickly. I shall be well enough by tomorrow.”

 

“I am glad.”

 

There was an awkward period of silence between them, Faramir fidgeting with the cuff of his tunic while Legolas stared at the wall opposite determined not to say anything further.

 

“I had thought that Gimli would still be with you …” Faramir ventured

 

“Contrary to general opinion hereabouts, I do not have need of a nursemaid!” Legolas said vehemently. “I have suffered injuries before you know; I was fighting alongside other warriors in my father’s brigades long before you were born.”

 

“Of course you have, I was merely hoping to offer my apologies to Lord Gimli for my conduct last evening, Aragorn said ...” this time it was the Steward who paused as if rethinking his reply

 

 “Do pray continue Faramir, what did Aragorn have to say?” Since Faramir seemed reluctant to do so Legolas did it for him. “No doubt Aragorn said you should not have taken me with you, me being nothing more than an elfling unable to take care of myself and not being of age as I am.”

 

“He did not say it like that, but he did quite rightly inform me that I should have asked Gimli’s permission before taking you about the city. I had not realized just how young you are.”

 

“Old enough to fight in your wars” Legolas snapped.

 

“Yes and no one disputes your skills in that area but still …”

 

“And older than many of the youths who lined the walls of Minas Tirith when the might of Mordor came calling. You did not consider them ‘too’ young; did you get permission for them to lay down their lives for your precious White City?”

 

Legolas saw the pain and anguish flare in Faramir’s eyes at this accusation, and felt ashamed of himself. Doubly so when Faramir whispered:

 

“No, but how I wish it had not been necessary. Not a day goes by when I do not regret the loss of so many of my fellow countrymen and women and wonder why I was unable to prevent their suffering. Young, old it matters not. Their faces will haunt me all my life. And that is why Legolas I would not place anyone under age in such a position again, be they mortal or elven kind. I am sorry if that offends you, but so it is. And it makes me doubly glad that I had the presence of mind to have you moved from the cells last night.”

 

Legolas, who was just starting to feel more in charity with Faramir, pokered up at once as the main source of his discontent with his friend was brought to mind by Faramir’s words.

 

“You think I should be grateful to you for that?”

 

“Well yes, you surely did not want to spend the night there?”

 

Honesty compelled Legolas to say “Of course not,” but then to add angrily “but why did you have to announce to everyone that I was underage?”

 

Faramir looked perplexed, and then a little irritated “I said it because it was the truth. And I didn’t ‘announce it’, I merely told the captain of the guard.”

 

“And you think he will keep quiet about such a thing?”

 

“I do not understand why that should concern you, what difference does it make, you are still the Prince Legolas, a hero of the Ring War, an elven warrior without peer.”

 

“And now branded a child by everyone in this cursed city because of you!”

 

“What nonsense!” the Steward snapped back, truly angry now. “People here have more important things to think on than your bruised pride. What is more, if this is an example of how you usually react to someone telling the truth about you; then I can only say that you are far more a child than I thought you and you deserve whatever is coming to you.”

 

“As do you”

 

“What do you mean by that?”

 

Aware as he was that their quarrel was descending into farce, Legolas still could not stop himself curling a disdainful lip and saying “I was not the one who was so drunk that they became involved in a brawl in a public inn. You surely do not believe that you will not be bought to book for that.”

 

Faramir scowled “I have already told the king that what I do in my own time is my own business.”

 

Legolas had to hold his aching ribs as he laughed out loud at this statement, “And you think he will accept that argument? I did not realize that you were that foolish Faramir. He is your father as well as your king, and you owe him your allegiance and obedience twice over.” He saw Faramir frown and added, “Believe me I know of what I speak, I too have to answer to both my father and my king, remember. Not to mention any number of other parental figures that seem to litter my path and make my life more difficult.”

 

“Unlike you I am of age,” Faramir argued, “I do not need, nor will I accept boundaries set on my private life, not even by my king.”

 

It was not usual for elves to snort but Legolas managed it, “You will have to accept whatever he decrees Faramir, because he is your father. And you already know what happens when you choose to ignore his ‘requests’ to ensure your safety.”

 

Faramir slumped in his chair; seeing the anguish on his face Legolas added more kindly. “I do not say do not continue to fight Aragorn on this matter. I battle with my minders all of the time, they do not or will not see that I or you are capable of making choices for ourselves …”

 

He sighed as the truth of his words hit home. Gimli, Aragorn, his father and even Faramir had done what they had for the very same reason as he was about to use to try and persuade Faramir to accept the truth of his situation. It was ironic but he could not deny the fact even had he wished to. He found that he did not even wish it, for Faramir was a good friend and he had Legolas’ best interests at heart after all.

 

“And they make it so damned hard to stand against them, because they do what they do because they love us.” Legolas looked up through his eyelashes at his friend and added softly, “I am sorry I took my temper out on you mellon-nin, you did what you thought was right and you did it for the very same reasons I think as Gimli and Aragorn do when they seek to protect us from others or ourselves. It is not your fault that I am still considered under-age by my kind after all is it? Actually it is my parents, but I do not think my Adar would like it should I argue with him on that point either.”

 

Faramir laughed at that and placed a hand on Legolas arm, “I wish I had been more circumspect in my words my friend. But truly I do not think last night will change the way the people of Gondor look at you. They admire and respect you, and all that you have done for them. And as for myself, I will try not to let it affect the way I treat you either.” He gave a wry smile, “Mainly because I think I am going to better understand your frustration and anger over your situation, now that I too have an overprotective and unyielding parent of my own.”

 

“You have no idea.” Legolas grinned, “Aragorn is worse even than Gimli. And Arwen, for all her sweet smiles and soft words, is the worst of the lot. Do not be fooled by that gentle exterior; she has a will of iron and will not be gainsaid once she has chosen a path for you.”

 

“You terrify me.”

 

“Most females terrify me. I was so happy last night when I found that unlike at the formal balls and feasts, I was not pursued by young women but was allowed to dance and enjoy myself with rational females, it quite restored my faith in the women of Gondor … What?”

 

He looked suspiciously up at Faramir who was grinning, and repeated another “What?”

 

“I hardly dare tell you.” Faramir chuckled, his eyes twinkling as Legolas’ nose wrinkled in disgust and he spluttered, “You told them that I was young!”

 

“Not … not in so many words.  I just said you didn’t enjoy being chased all the time, I am sorry Legolas … I was trying to be helpful.”

 

Legolas tried to remain indignant but he could not do it in face of Faramir’s amused chagrin and his own innate honesty. He gave up and joined in the laughter, “You were helpful, very helpful. I admit it, do not like to be the center of attention especially of ladies attentions. Last night was actually fun.”

 

 “I wonder if we will still believe that after Aragorn and Gimli have finished with us?”

 

This question was enough to send them both back into the glooms, all the less pleasant aspects of their evening coming to the fore and the likely consequences of their night out pressing into their minds.

 

Legolas, more accustomed than Faramir to the kind attentions of his guardians, was the first one to put the inevitable consequences to one side. If, well, probably when, Gimli chose to discuss his conduct with him, he would accept it as his due and move on. For now he saw the need to cheer his friend up. “It was good to be able to talk with Boromir’s men, was it not? They had so many tales to tell of him, of his good humor and his bravery. You were fortunate indeed in your brother, I envy you that.”

 

“Boromir was the best of brothers.” Faramir replied softly, “Sometimes I bemoaned his determination to keep me on the straight and narrow, especially given his own proclivity for finding trouble. But he always did his best to shield me from my father’s wrath, Lord Denethor I mean, when I was growing up.” He stopped his face showing his distress then as if the words were wrung from him added, “Can you believe that I was so foolish as to accuse Aragorn of being just like him?”

 

“Was Lord Denethor such a harsh parent then?” Legolas inquired gently.

 

“In comparison to Aragorn very much so, he always seemed to disapprove of me, no matter how hard I tried to be a good son to him.”

 

Legolas reached over and took the man’s hand. “Then let me make it plain to you, that, that is something you need not fear as far as Aragorn is concerned. He may disapprove of your actions, but never of you personally. I can assure you of that.”

 

“Thank you, it is good to hear!” A voice spoke from the doorway.

 

Elf and man turned to see the king and Gimli standing in there.

 

 

xxxx


	4. Chapter 4

 

xxxx

 

**Part IV**

**[Gimli POV]**

 

Gimli awakened just before midday with a pounding headache and a crick in his neck.  Stretching his spine out and rubbing his aching neck, he groaned softly so as not to awaken his elf.   Sleeping in a chair was not the most restful of experiences, but he had found himself with the need to do so on more occasions that he had ever thought possible as his impetuous charge was forever getting into scrapes that left him injured and in need of someone to watch over him.  Gimli never felt right about leaving someone else to do it, and for the most part he didn’t mind.  But there were times like today that he wondered what he had managed to get himself into by agreeing to act as a guardian to an elfling, who would never in Gimli’s lifetime  make it to the stage of being a staid and sensible adult.  It was a daunting task and after two nights in a row with very little sleep, the dwarf fleetingly thought he might not be up to it. In fact this particular day he was quite sure he was not the dwarf for the job.

 

  He might as well face the fact that he was never going to be equal to it and was always going to let this child down.  After all, here they were again.  He had not protected the one he had promised to watch out for.  No matter that Legolas had lead him to believe he was safely at home last evening, the fact still remained, he had ended up broken and arrested while in Gimli’s care.  Again. 

 

But after making and drinking a cup of strong black tea, Gimli began to rally again.  Of course he could do it.  A dwarf was up to any task he set his mind to.  Gimli’s mood lifted from feeling hopeless and annoyed to being just annoyed.

 

 By all rights he should have been able to stay and see his task at the great gate finished last night.  He did not like being interrupted in the middle of such important work, but because of parental responsibilities he’d had to leave it to others to finish the task.  And all because the bratling elf had somehow managed to get himself mixed up in a drunken brawl.   For a moment he felt annoyed at Faramir as well, since he surely could have watched out for Legolas better and prevented him getting into trouble.  After all, most people would know better than to have someone of tender years out drinking at all hours of the night!  But then Gimli sighed and admitted the truth to himself.  He could hardly blame Faramir. The Valar themselves couldn’t keep his elf out of trouble.  Likely Faramir had gotten injured trying to help Legolas get himself out of some situation he had carelessly leapt into with both feet.  Of course that still didn’t explain Faramir’s extremely inebriated state.

 

Ah well it was a puzzle that could be explained to him later, something he intended to insist on the moment Legolas opened his eyes.  The Lad had a lot of explaining to do and a lot to answer for as well, and the dwarf had a thing or two to say to him as soon as he had the chance!  He certainly deserved it after the trouble Legolas had caused.  Not to mention the blatant deception!  Ah yes, there was much to say.

 

 As if these thoughts troubled the elf, Legolas began to show signs of awakening. He stirred and whimpered in his sleep as his damaged ribs were disturbed. The blue eyes that blinked open registered pain before a soft voice whispered the dwarf’s name.

 

“Gimli?”

 

Blasted Elf!  Gimli couldn’t even get a rightful grumble in before his heart was swayed again.  The scolding words died on his lips before they’d had a chance to live. He reached out to brush stray hair out of Legolas’ face.

 

“Aye Lamb.  What is amiss?”

 

Deceptively innocent eyes caught his for a moment and then fluttered shut again

 

“I just wondered where you were.”

 

Damn it! It was impossible to remember his ire when such unfair tactics were employed.

 

“I am still here, Lad, just as I said I would be.  But if ye think ye will be all right alone for a bit, I should go down to check on the work that is being done on the gates.”

 

“You won’t be gone long will you?”

 

At this question, the dwarf gave up all pretenses that he was not wrapped around the troublesome child’s little finger.  The thing was ridiculous, but he could not help himself.

 

“I shall be back inside an hour, Lamb.”  He promised, helping to straighten the covers and arrange the pillows better. “If ye need anything before then, ye call the guard that is stationed at the end of the corridor. I will let him know to keep an ear open just in case.”

 

Legolas nodded and snuggled back into the covers to go back to sleep. Gimli rolled his eyes at his inability to remain stern even for a minute.

 

So it was that Gimli found himself walking down the corridor of the Citadel, annoyed beyond belief, but without an outlet for his frustration.  Sadly the sovereign of the fair city did not know this and had sent a message to a guard stationed near the dwarf’s quarters to watch for him and pass on the message that the king wanted to see him. This interruption did nothing to improve the Gimli’s humor, so when he was lead to the Aragorn’s private study the greeting he met the king with was perhaps not the most genial.

 

“What do ye want?”  The dwarf growled, not bothering himself with proper greetings.  Aragorn appeared to be taken aback for a moment, giving Gimli an odd look, but he ventured on undaunted anyway.

 

“Things did not go so well with Faramir this morning, and I’ve been concerned over it ever since. I…I need your advice my friend.”

 

Gimli very much longed to advise the man to find another advisor, as he had things to tend to and had no time for counseling befuddled royalty.  He needed to be back to his chambers inside an hour.  But, sighing, he recalled that Aragorn was his friend, so instead he gestured for the king to continue, hoping he would make it quick.

 

“It is just that I feel so lost on what to do,” Aragorn confided, “I have had men under my command, trained them, even lead them into battle, but I’ve never had a son before.  You can’t imagine how overwhelming it is to find myself suddenly a father to a person I didn’t raise myself and who I didn’t even know as a child.”

 

“Can’t I?”  Giml snorted disdainfully. Aragorn flushed, realizing his blunder in words.

 

“Oh right,” the king backpedaled. “I suppose that you can relate.”

 

“Indeed I can,” the dwarf  declared.  “And I do not recall ye offering me ‘helpful advice’ when ye saddled me with that pointy eared juvenile menace either!  If I remember correctly, ye were rather amused at our troubles at the time.”

 

“Be merciful, friend Gimli,” Aragorn laughingly implored the dwarf, looking honestly contrite at the same time. “I beg you treat me better than I treated you.  I was uneducated about the seriousness of your dilemma, but believe me I know better now. It was no laughing matter…beside you seem to be rather fond of the pointy eared menace nowadays.”  Aragorn added with a knowing smile.  A smirk was more like it, Gimli thought.

 

“Hmmph!” was the dwarf’s noncommittal answer.  “Be that as it may, if ye need to talk now, ye’ll have to walk with me to the gates.  I needs must see to the work there and then hurry back to my chambers.  I have an injured lad who I’ve warned to wait for my assistance to rise even just to use the facilities. It would not be kind to be gone too long and leave him in an the uncomfortable situation of having to decide whether or not to obey that particular decree would it?”

 

“I don’t suppose it would,” Aragorn agreed and then pointed out, “See you are very fair minded. This is why I need your advice.”

 

“Very well then,” Gimli relented heading for the door, “ye’d best start from the beginning.”

 

The dwarf was quite amazed at how quickly Aragorn’s bodyguards assembled and followed him without a word being said to tell them their king wanted to go for a walk.  They certainly knew their duty well, Gimli thought to himself, though it was disconcerting to be walking the streets with such an entourage. Still the guards followed at a respectful distance to at least give them a semblance of privacy.  Aragorn himself didn’t seem to be bothered and he began telling his tale. 

 

The dwarf had yet to be informed of any of the details so he listened with interest to the tale as it had been told to Aragorn that morning in as much detail as Faramir’s blurry memory had been able to recall and relay to his king and father.    At one point Gimli stopped walking and turned to the king.

 

“Wait just a moment.  Are ye telling me that it was _Faramir_ who jumped into the middle of the brawl?”  Gimli had assumed, unfairly he realized now, that Legolas had begun it.

 

“That is what he said,” Aragorn told him. “I know it sounds far fetched, but evidently Legolas tried to talk him out of getting involved.”

 

Gimli was suddenly more annoyed than ever-angry even- and feeling a trifle guilty for his earlier uncharitable thoughts about his elf.  Faramir should have known better!   Did he have no more sense than to actually _lead_ the elfling into trouble? Evidently not!  But he hoped Faramir had that understanding now. And so he said to his friend.

 

“I certainly hope ye made it painfully clear that it is not a good practice to take youngsters on unapproved outings that last til all hours of the night and then get so sloppy drunk that ye end up getting him seriously injured and arrested!” 

 

“I did mention it, Gimli, and I meant to, but I couldn’t because of what happened after that,” Aragorn admitted.  “He was angry-we both were.  He accused me of being like Denethor…asked that I send a healer after I was done with him.”

 

Gimli felt suddenly deflated at hearing this and found for the second time that day that he could not hold on to his righteous rage.  He found himself consoling his friend, who looked rather crushed.  He patted the King’s arm before resuming his walk toward the gates. 

 

“He didn’t mean it, Laddie.  He was upset and probably a little afraid.”

 

“That is just the problem,” Aragorn lamented.  “I can’t have him afraid of me and if I go ahead and do as I had intended he might have real cause for it.  And yet it seems wrong to just let it go.”

 

“Oh ye mustn’t let it go!” Gimli was sure of that.  He was still quite annoyed with Faramir and they certainly didn’t need a repeat of last night’s debacle.  Legolas could find trouble enough on his own without having someone dragging him along into more.  They were fortunate indeed that broken ribs had been the worst of what had happened considering all the drunken men who had been involved.  

 

“Then what?”  Aragorn demanded.

 

Gimli thought for a moment.  “Tell me, do ye intend to cause him any real hurt? Physical or otherwise?”

 

“Of course not!”

 

“How will he know this if ye never demonstrate it?” Gimli reasoned. “He needs to be able to see that you can get angry without losing control. He needs to know that there is no danger when he is with you. I suspect that it is a new experience for him, considering who his name father was.”

 

Aragorn nodded, considering this.

 

By then they had arrived at the gates. To his relief Gimli could see that the crews had done a fine job, even without him there to oversee the end of the project.  A hurried inspection showed that the critical work was now done and all that remained was to polish the mithril bits into a high gloss so that it shone like glass.   It would be the most valuable and most beautiful gate in all of Arda.  He should have trusted that he could count on the dwarven workers to handle things correctly! 

 

So it was a much lighter of heart dwarf who returned to the citadel than the one who had left it.  Things seemed brighter than they had just an hour ago, though he was still more than a little put out with Faramir.  But in Gimli’s mind his own charge had gone from being a trouble-making hooligan to a good intentioned lad who was only looking out for a friend.  Not that he couldn’t deal with either, but still it was a relief to know the truth of the matter.  So as he walked along with his now very thoughtful friend he offered charitably, “Never fear, laddie, ye’ll do the right thing. Your intentions are good and your motives pure so ye need only to do what seems right after ye’ve had time to think it over.”

 

The king smiled doubtfully, “I appreciate the vote of confidence. I wish I could be so sure.”

 

“Ye’ll be fine if ye remember to try to see things from his point of view as far as ye are able. And recall that he IS your son and has your temper. And your stubbornness.  And your reckless streak.  And your unfortunate sense of humor.”

 

Aragorn was laughing in earnest now.  “Peace, Gimli.  I get it”

 

Gimli laughed too but turned to give Aragorn an admonitory look, “AND your detestable habit of dragging Legolas into trouble it seems.”

 

“I have not done so in a very long time,” Aragorn protested, “and besides I rarely had to drag him into trouble, and more often than not I  followed HIM in.”

 

“So ye say,” Gimli snorted, “That’s not how I’ve heard it told.”

 

Before Aragorn could object further, they had reached the Citadel, where the dwarf expected the king to go his separate way, but instead he followed Gimli back to his quarters saying that Faramir might be there and he should like to see how Legolas was faring anyway.  Aragorn was proven correct about Faramir’s presence, for when they got near the door they could hear a serious discussion taking place.

 

“Boromir was the best of brothers.” Faramir replied softly, “Sometimes I bemoaned his determination to keep me on the straight and narrow.  Especially given his own proclivity for finding trouble. But he always did his best to shield me from my father’s wrath, Lord Denethor I mean, when I was growing up.” He stopped, his face showing his distress then as if the words were wrung from him added, “Can you believe that I was so foolish as to accuse Aragorn of being just like him?”

 

Gimli elbowed Aragorn and raised a knowing eyebrow that clearly meant ‘I told you so.”   He opened the door, but hesitated on the threshold at the next words that were spoken.

 

“Was Lord Denethor such a harsh parent then?” Legolas inquired gently.

 

“In comparison to Aragorn very much so, he always seemed to disapprove of me, no matter how hard I tried to be a good son to him.”

 

“Then let me make it plain to you. That is just something you need not fear as far as Aragorn is concerned.  He may disapprove of your actions, but never of you personally. I can assure you of that.”

 

The dwarf smiled at that proof of his elf’s innate kindness and wish to help others.  Again he felt a twinge of guilt about his earlier thoughts, but he pushed them aside and stepped into the room, just as Aragorn answered.

 

“Thank you!  That is good to hear.”

 

Both Legolas and Faramir looked up in surprise, and then Faramir looked exceedingly uncomfortable for an awkward moment

 

 But perhaps years of practice at having to deal with awkward or uncomfortable situations meant that Faramir soon rallied.

 

“I owe you both an apology,” he began, but he turned his attention to Gimli.  “I am sorry I failed to let you know my intentions to take Legolas along to the celebration last night.  I realize now that I should have gained your consent.”

 

Gimli kept his features neutral even though he was cringing inside at this apology. His elfling would not like it being implied that he needed anyone’s consent to do whatever he pleased.  Even if it was technically true, he preferred such things to be kept between the two of them and would not like Faramir to talk about it.  Gimli glanced briefly at his charge and sure enough Legolas was beginning to look like a ruffled hen.  But having the ability to ignore a lot of the lad’s histrionics is what made it possible for the dwarf to carry out his role as guardian, so he had no trouble answering evenly.

 

“Indeed ye should have.  I would not have been likely to prohibit such an outing, but I might have suggested a reasonable hour to come in.  Preferably _before_ half the celebrants-including you-were entirely tanked and in the mood for a bender.  I’d prefer ye keep your wits about ye when…ye are in a crowd.”

 

Gimli had almost said Faramir should keep his wits when he had Legolas in his company, but he thought the rest of the day would be more pleasant if he kept that thought to himself.  Faramir seemed to understand though, for he flushed deep red.

 

“Indeed that would have been the wiser course,” he nodded.  “And also I should tell you that the outcome of last night-er this morning-was entirely my fault. The memory is hazy, but I do recall Legolas trying to warn me not to get involved.”

 

“So I have been told.  Well that is a matter to be discussed between you and your king, no doubt,” Gimli observed, though he briefly squeezed Faramir’s shoulder to show his acceptance of the Steward’s words. 

 

After that Aragorn made a quick examination of Legolas’ injuries again in spite of the fearsome glare that was trained on him. Or perhaps it was meant for Faramir. Either way he only reminded the elf that he should continue to rest quietly until morning when they would reevaluate the situation, and not to forget to breathe deeply every hour or so.

 

“It might be painful, but you will be doing your lungs a favor.” Aragorn patted his irritated patient’s knee and then rose to leave.  Faramir followed the king out, leaving Gimli to withstand the death stare all alone.  But the dwarf’s mood had lightened so much that he wasn’t too bothered by this.

 

“Ye know, lad,” he teased, “I have it on good counsel that if ye’re not careful, your face might freeze like that.”

 

Legolas did not find the dwarf’s levity amusing, though Gimli laughed himself to show he was jesting.  But he quickly reigned in his amusement for his elfling looked unhappy, uncomfortable and entirely disgruntled.  And no wonder, Gimli thought.  Still he thought it wise to seek to counsel the lad on his sour attitude before it got worse and ended up causing him trouble. He sat on the edge of the bed and spoke in a low, serious voice.

 

“I know ye do not feel well and I also can see that ye are offended about something, but recall that I did not do this to you, elfling, and continuing to scowl at me in such a manner won’t change the situation a gnat’s eyelash.  Besides if ye’d been where ye lead me to believe ye were last night, you wouldn’t be in this predicament at all.  And believe me when I say we will be discussing the reasons behind why you felt the need to deceive me as ye did as soon as ye are fit enough to do so.  But for now ye will do as you are bid and rest and heal and what must be done is best done cheerfully. ”

 

Legolas’ expression changed from peeved to simply defeated.

 

“I know it, and I am sorry, Gimli, but it is hard to be ‘cheerful’ when my reputation has been sullied,” he complained.

 

Gimli pretended not to understand his meaning, “I do not think one bar fight will cause too much discussion, Lamb.”

 

“It’s not that,” Legolas explained, “I meant the fact that Faramir had me removed from the cells and processed as a minor.”

 

“As he should have, considering that you _are_ a minor,” Gimli pointed out.  “It may be the only sensible thing Faramir did last evening.” 

 

“But not everyone knew that and it was humiliating.” Legolas groused.

 

“I do not see why. It’s hardly something to be ashamed of is it?  If anyone disregards you on that account they are hardly worth your time anyway and I’d be happy to set straight anyone who would dare to be disrespectful of your accomplishments. But I seriously doubt your age will be a topic for discussion among any of the detainees this morning.  They have other things to worry over.”

 

“I suppose so,” Legolas admitted, “but still…”

 

“Besides there are more embarrassing things than your age that Faramir could have told them.” Gimli jested.  “For instance he could have let them know you drool in your sleep…”

 

“I do not!” Legolas bristled, but he wiped his mouth on his sleeve anyway, to the dwarf’s amusement.

 

“Or that you have a heart shaped mole on your…”

 

“Gimli! Please!” Legolas flushed but couldn’t help laughing a little and then pointing out, “Faramir has no way of knowing that.”

 

“I could arrange to let him know…”

 

“You wouldn’t!”

 

Gimli chuckled at the response he had invoked with his teasing, but quickly relented.

 

“No I wouldn’t,” Gimli admitted.  “It wouldn’t do to give away all the family secrets.”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

**Part V**

**[Aragorn POV]**

Aragorn found himself facing his grown son on the other side of Gimli’s door, unsure of what to say.  Faramir seemed to be having the same problem, so Aragorn settled on nodding in the direction of his private quarters, and commanding, “Walk with me.”

 

Faramir nodded back, and they fell into step together.  As they walked, Aragorn glanced surreptitiously at his son. ‘Think of things from his point of view,’ Gimli had recommended. ‘Well,’ Aragorn thought to himself, ‘I was never so foolishly stubborn as to tell my foster-father Elrond that my throwing myself and a family friend into a drunken riot was NONE OF HIS BUSINESS.  I can’t even imagine what he would have done if I had.’  

 

Aragorn’s ruminations were interrupted by the arrival of one of his clerks. “King Elessar, my pardon for interrupting, but a Captain Edlenngol has arrived. You had wished to be informed…”

 

“Oh, yes. Him, I want to talk to.” Aragorn confirmed, his eyes sparking grey fire.

 

Faramir’s own grey orbs widened, and Aragorn realized that his son must recognize the name of the guard captain who involved in his misadventure of the night before. Faramir quickly increased his pace to keep up with the King.

 

“Aragorn?” Faramir began anxiously, “Aragorn? It is really all right, my King. The man was just doing his job. Surely you wouldn’t take against a man merely for doing his job. And I will talk to him later, I swear to you.  Aragorn, Aragorn, please, it can wait. Aragorn?”

 

Aragorn didn’t stop until he was in his office, facing the clearly uncomfortable Captain Edlenngol. Faramir sat down at the King’s side, equally uneasy although less obviously so.

 

“Ah, Captain Edlenngol.” Aragorn began, leaning back in his chair with a critical look for the worried guard captain. “I’m sure that you must have had a good reason for arresting my two favorite princes. And an even better reason for compounding your error by leaving them injured in your care without treatment.  For hours.”   

 

“My apologies, your Majesty,” Edlenngol began, “We had no idea that we had his highness Prince Faramir in our custody...pardon, TWO princes?”  

 

“My underage companion was our dear friend and ally, Prince Legolas of the elven Kingdom of the Green Leaves.” Faramir informed the Captain quietly.  

 

Captain Edlenngol’s eyes widened, “One of the nine walkers!  Your Majesty, your highness, I am so terribly sorry.  We never would have arrested them and put them in a cell if we had known.”  

 

“On that count, your men were just doing their job, Captain.”  Faramir’s eyes met Aragorn’s, and held. The King nodded faintly. He didn’t like it, but Faramir did have a point.  He and Legolas had been amongst thirty or so drunk men brawling in the street. The guard couldn’t reasonably have been expected to sort that out then and there.

 

Aragorn, however, was not so ready to concede that in front of this idiot. “I, on the other hand, would like to know what you were thinking, Captain. Arresting an ally and a hero who is one of my dearest friends, as well as my own beloved so...”

 

"Steward." Faramir finished interrupted, with a wide-eyed look for the King. 

 

"Steward."  Aragorn corrected, reluctantly, and with a warning look in his eyes for Faramir which turned soft as the King added, "Whom I love like a son." Before Faramir could reply, Aragorn's attention returned to the guard captain. "Well, Captain Edlenngol? I am waiting for an answer."

 

“I’m so sorry, King Elessar, but there were just so many of the miscreants…we had no reason to suppose that some of them were only there because they had tried to STOP the brawl…”

 

“At the very least,” Faramir criticized, “You and your men should have had a healer summoned, to sort out the worst of the injured.”  Faramir’s tone was mild, but Aragorn recognized it and looked to Faramir in startlement. It was the way in which Aragorn’s mother had spoken, when another person would have shouted angrily.

 

The Captain evidently did not recognize it. “It was just a drunken brawl, we thought!” He protested to Faramir, “We didn’t know that you were there, and we thought that the whole sorry lot had deserved what they got for starting the fight in the first place!”  

 

Faramir and Aragorn exchanged a silent look, both disapproving, and back to their normal state of being almost completely in tune on governmental matters. Faramir nodded to Aragorn, a signal for the King to speak first.

 

Frantically, the Captain began backpeddling, “What I mean to say, is that it looked like just bruises and black eyes. We didn’t know that anyone was seriously injured!”  

 

“Fascinating.” The King commented sardonically, “I don’t suppose that any of you considered that bruises can be indicative of serious internal injuries? Of the sort which a healer would have known to check for?”

 

“Surely one of the prisoners would have complained had that been the case!” Captain Edlenngol protested helplessly.

 

Aragorn took a breath, planning to point out caustically that Legolas had not, and that soldiers were accustomed to pain. But Faramir spoke first, his voice like quiet thunder.

 

“Captain, I told the guard on duty that my friend needed a healer. And I mentioned that he was an underaged soldier who had fought to defend Minas Tirith during the Battle of the Pelennor. And after he had taken Prince Legolas to the office where I ASSUMED a healer would be called for him, I told the remaining guards that several others in the cell, also veterans who had risked their lives in the war, were likewise in need of medical attention.”

 

“Did you, now?” Aragorn murmured.

 

Another slight nod from Faramir, who continued, “The city regulations require that a healer be summoned, even for those accused of serious crimes.”

 

“They do.” Captain Edlenngol agreed, “But it was just a riot, just some drunken fools….er…” He cut himself off, perhaps realizing that the Prince in front of him had been one of those drunken fools.  

 

“Perhaps a review of the regulations is called for.” Aragorn suggested, in a deceptively mild tone of voice.  

 

“I'll look into it.” Faramir replied, “Something on a city-wide basis, I think. We wouldn’t want this mistake to happen again. The penalty for malfeasance in the city should not be death by neglect.”  

 

“No. Not you.” Aragorn said sternly, “There is too much pressure on you as it is. You barely sleep, and every hour on the hour there is someone seeking your aid.”  

 

Clearly embarrassed, Faramir protested, “Caring for the city is my job, my King.”   

 

“And caring for you is mine.” Aragorn replied levelly.

 

“As one of his officers, he means.” Faramir quickly clarified, with a semi-panicked glance at Captain Edlenngol.  

 

“Of course, your highness.” Edlenngol agreed, confused. But recognizing that Faramir was as close to an ally as he would get in the room, the Captain promised, “We will certainly review procedures. I promise that in the future we will make certain that anyone we arrest who might be injured, no matter the circumstances, is seen by a healer.”  

 

“See that you do.” Aragorn commanded.  

 

“I'll follow up with you and the Captain-General later, Captain Edlenngol.” Faramir added.  For all his tone was soft, it was clear that the Steward was giving an order.

 

The Captain nodded nervously, as Aragorn gave his son a cross look. “And then you'll delegate the rest of the review of that duty.”

 

“As Your Majesty wishes, of course.” Faramir agreed respectfully, but his eyes were flashing an entirely different message. A month ago, Aragorn might not have noticed. But now, he recognized the expression as one he’d seen in his own eyes. Faramir’s temper was rising.  Aragorn pondered why that might be. He was just trying to look out for the younger man, as was his paternal right.

 

The guard captain, meanwhile, was more than eager to accede to Faramir’s suggestion. He apologized again to Faramir, and then begged that the King and Steward would convey his apologies to the Prince Legolas.

 

“You can apologize to him yourself when you return to follow up on the matter of policies regarding healers,” Aragorn suggested wryly, “And to Lord Gimli.  While I'm sure that Prince Legolas will accept your apology as gracefully as my Prince has, Lord Gimli may have more to say.”  

 

Captain Edlenngol blanched, and then stammered, “Yes. Of course, your Majesty.”  

 

“I will accompany you, captain.” Faramir offered kindly.  

 

“No, you won't.” Aragorn stated firmly, “You have enough to do.” In his father’s opinion, Faramir worked entirely too hard.

 

“Yes, of course, as you say, Your Majesty.” Faramir replied pleasantly, although that look was back in his eyes. Faramir, for some reason, didn’t seem to appreciate Aragorn’s efforts.

 

And perhaps there was a reason for that…Aragorn had never liked it when someone tried to tell him that he was working too hard, when Aragorn had been fairly sure that he knew what he was about. He had particularly not appreciated it when Lord Elrond objected to his training and scouting habits, upon his return to Imladris after his long sojourn in Gondor. The pain of Elrond’s disapproval of Aragorn’s love for Arwen had troubled Aragorn for many years, and Elrond hadn’t been with him in Gondor, hadn’t seen what he’d seen, didn’t have any right to….oh.  

 

Finally realizing how overbearing he must sound, and taking pity on his son, Aragorn abruptly dismissed Edlenngol.

 

Which left Aragorn alone with his son, but this time he was on surer footing.

 

**[Faramir POV]**

 

Faramir sighed with relief as the poor Captain was finally dismissed, ending Faramir’s ordeal. The King could be so terribly overbearing, so very…

 

“I have been told,” Aragorn said, laying a gentle hand on Faramir’s shoulder, “that I am more than a bit overprotective. Legolas, at the least, has said so. Gimli has called me temperamental and stubborn.  If I am so with my friends, I am likely even more so with my son, whom I was unable to protect during the years when he most needed me.”

 

Faramir met his father’s kind eyes, completely surprised by Aragorn’s insight and  almost-apology.  “It is not your fault.” Faramir replied, offering the truth of that in his eyes, and trying to muddle through the rest of how he felt at the moment, “I know…that you would never hurt me. I don't know why I said what I did.”  

 

“We both lost our temper.” Aragorn said, patting Faramir’s shoulder and leading him back towards the royal apartments. Faramir followed, glad that he and the King were back in harmony with each other. Well, mostly. Faramir wasn’t looking forward to what would come next, but he wasn’t afraid of it, either.

 

When they were in Faramir’s room, Aragorn turned to address his son again, “Faramir, I have a temper. I become angry and sometimes I say things which I do not mean. But I would never hurt you.”

 

There was an awkward pause as Faramir tried to figure out how to express his confidence in that, in the end just leaving the truth of it in his eyes for his father to read. Aragorn did, and sighed in relief. He stepped forward to catch Faramir in an awkward embrace. After a moment, Faramir relaxed enough that it was no longer so awkward.

 

Pulling away, Aragorn left his hands on Faramir’s shoulders. “Faramir, I truly do not care about the drunken foolery in and of itself. You’re a grown man, and have every right to enjoy yourself in any safe and legal manner. But you shouldn’t have thrown yourself into a riot. And you shouldn’t have gotten so drunk at a place and time where no one was there to prevent you making a foolish, dangerous decision like that.”

 

Faramir couldn’t argue with that, at least not much. And besides it was true that, “I should not have lost control of myself thusly while a younger companion was with me. Doing so was both irresponsible and unkind. I very feel badly, about that. So much so that I would not mind…or rather, I think it would be…fitting, that I answer also to Lord Gimli after you are through with me.”

 

Aragorn blinked. “That is very…responsible, of you. But I do not believe that it is necessary. As you heard, Gimli entrusted me with your correction. Which is fitting, as I am your father and you are my son.” Aragorn frowned at Faramir, “And we also have the matter of your blatantly disregarding my command, and walking around the city at your will with no company at all, or with only one competent warrior such as Legolas at your side.”  

 

“It was…” Faramir struggled for words, “It was, in my opinion, an unfair command, and one not particularly well thought out.” He sighed, “But in any case, I should not have gone behind your back, leading you to believe that I had acceded. That was discourteous of me, and deceptive as well as disobedient.  I more than earned a session with your paddle for that.” Aragorn had taken all of this calmly, so Faramir added, “Even if I do not feel that your decision, in requiring me to be accompanied by your guards within the city, is particularly well-thought out.”

 

“Rather than just having you go off and do as you see fit in defiance of my directive, I am not opposed to discussing the matter further, Faramir.” Aragorn commented wryly.

 

“Ah, but if you don’t mind me pointing this out…you rather were opposed to discussing that order at the time which you gave it.” Faramir replied, hiding a slight smile at Aragorn’s narrowing eyes. “In fact,” Faramir continued, “Your exact words were something along the lines of, ‘And I will no brook no argument from you, Faramir.”

 

“If we’re playing a game, ion-nin.” Aragorn said dry good humor, “Then give yourself a point. And because we are still figuring out how to go about being father and son, I think I can be lenient with you regarding your deception and disobedience. This once.”

 

Faramir couldn’t decide whether he felt relieved, lost, or like now was the best time to push his advantage on the guards issue. “Can we renegotiate your requirement of an escort?” He asked hopefully, since he was not adverse to a postponement of his sentence. He would feel more up to debating the issue with his father if he didn’t already have a sore bottom.

 

“We can,” the King agreed wryly, “But only after we address your poor judgment and more long-standing deception and defiance of my orders.”

 

Faramir must have appeared a bit crest-fallen, as Aragorn grinned sympathetically, “Good try, though.”  Then the King took a seat on the guest room bed, and motioned for Faramir to join him. “Let us get this over with, ion-nin. I relish it no more than you do.”

 

Faramir rather doubted that. He’d never liked handing out a spanking himself, but it had never reduced him to tears, either. And Aragorn had seemed quite enthusiastic about smacking Faramir’s backside earlier that day, to the extent that he had swatted his son in front of Arwen. Which Faramir had hated.

 

Still, he walked up to Aragorn and loosened his leggings, and did not fight the King as Aragorn pulled him into position. Faramir had to grit his teeth as he felt his tunic come up and his leggings come down. It was always an upsetting situation, being bare-bottomed before someone who was going to make sure you remembered the experience in a most unpleasant fashion. In fact, bare bottom over someone’s lap like this was one of Faramir’s very least favorite ways to apologize for having made a mistake.

 

He had little time for further introspection. The King’s hand smacked down loudly upon his bottom, and then proceeded to thoroughly address Faramir’s entire backside with a series of stinging swats. Some of the individual smacks were firm enough to cause Faramir to gasp, but at first he was mostly embarrassed by the child-like punishment, and more so by the fact that he had acted in such a manner as to earn it. But then the heat from the King’s hand repeatedly spanking him grew, and Faramir had to fight to keep himself in position. Which, to Faramir’s mind, was one of the worst parts of a spanking. You were required to cooperate in your own punishment, holding your bottom steady as spank after spank eroded away your dignity and control.

 

Aragorn’s sharp, stinging swats moved to the more tender undercurves of Faramir’s bottom, the places upon which Faramir would normally sit. But apparently not today, or at least not easily. Faramir yelped, and grasped at the folds of the blankets to hold himself still.

 

The spanking continued, even though Faramir’s sit-spots were on fire. But Aragorn’s other hand moved to gently rub his back, “There is no shame in reacting, Faramir.” The King assured. “I know that it hurts. The pain will pass, but hopefully the lesson will remain with you.”

 

“I…will not …drag a young friend… into something like this… again.” Faramir promised in a gasp, unable to keep himself from trying to roll away.

 

Aragorn simply sighed, and moved so that one arm was holding Faramir in place just above his waist, pulling Faramir’s body further over his knees so that the undercurves of Faramir’s bottom were more prominently presented. Faramir moaned in resignation as the King’s legs locked him into that position, and the dreaded hand began to rain resounding spanks upon his burning backside again.

 

“Smack…smack....smack,” fell Aragorn’s hand, as he began to lecture, “I would hope that you will also refrain from getting YOURSELF into such danger again, Faramir.”

 

“Yes, Sire!” Faramir gasped. He agreed that Aragorn did hope that, even though he still rather felt that it was none of the King’s affair.

 

Aragorn applied a particularly hard swat to the center of Faramir’s bottom. “You are not careful.” Another smack, “If you had a son, would you not care that he threw himself into such trouble with nary a thought for his own safety?”

 

Faramir wriggled again (as much as Aragorn’s restraining arm would let him), this time thinking about that. He would not like it if the unborn babe under Eowyn’s heart were to be so careless, when he – or she – grew up.  He would want his child to be careful with the life which was already so precious to Faramir, even before that child had even drawn a breath. “Ye…yes!” Faramir gasped at that, and Aragorn paused the spanking long enough for Faramir to elaborate, “I would care. I’m sorry. You…have a right to care.”

 

Aragorn stopped swatting then, and gently helped Faramir to his feet. Swallowing hard, Faramir ran a dry sleeve over his streaming eyes and hastily rightened his clothes. Even the soft fabric of his leggings being pulled over his throbbing bottom made him wince. He looked miserably at the floor.

 

“By all rights,” Aragorn told him softly, pulling Faramir into another embrace. “I should spank you a second time for ignoring my command to take my guards with you. But I find that I have not the stomach for it.”

 

Still trying to calm his breathing, Faramir did not try to pull away from his father’s comforting hug.  “You…should, though.” He managed to gasp. By all means, he did not want to be spanked again. But he did not want the King to go lightly on him. They might disagree on the issue of the guards, but Faramir’s conduct had earned him a punishment over it.

 

“I will not let you off so easily next time.” Aragorn promised softly into his ear, “But I’ll not have you tell me what to do.” Aragorn gently pushed Faramir away with that, holding up his son’s shoulders. “You tell me what to do often enough, usually so politely that I hardly notice. I’ll not have you dictate to me how you should be punished. Particularly when it is not in your own best interests.”

 

“Thank you.” Was all that Faramir could think to say, but it seemed to be enough. Aragorn released him with another gentle squeeze to his good shoulder, and ordered Faramir to lie down and rest. That seemed like a good idea (not to mention that Faramir suspected a protest would be in vain), so Faramir did so. He fell asleep to Aragorn’s hand running soothingly down his back, as the King read petitions in the chair beside his bed.

 

Occasionally, Aragorn would check to see if Faramir was still awake, and if he was, ask a question.

 

“The town just south of Lossarnach’s border?”

 

“Two Forks.” Faramir would murmur, still discomfited by his burning rear but otherwise fairly content with the world.

 

“The main export of the Lebennin?”

 

“Wool, oddly, although in recent years it has shifted towards wheat.” Faramir murmured.  Not long after that he fell into sleep, dreaming of sowing wheat in company with the Queen and the surviving members of the fellowship, whilst Aragorn scared away sheep. He was afraid that they were going to bite Faramir, although Faramir in the dream assured his father that sheep were generally not so vicious.

 

When Faramir awoke a few hours later, it was to the gentle sound of familiar voices several rooms away.  The scent of dinner beckoned, and although sitting on his sore backside would be uncomfortable, it no longer seemed like torture. He sat up, and immediately squirmed in discomfort. But still, it was not so bad.

 

And provided that Legolas healed quickly and Gimli forgave Faramir for being a terribly negligent escort, the whole situation might even seem funny in retrospect. Or at least it might in a few more weeks. Soon enough, perhaps, that Faramir could take Legolas to the party which young Lord Forlos intended to host for his regiment and his friends at his brother Lord Forlong’s home in the city.  Forlong might be inclined, after this whole incident, not to let Forlos have a party. But if Faramir were to invite the King, even in his persona as a ranger…how could Forlong say no? And if Faramir were to invite Gimli as well as Legolas, and then ask Arwen to make sure that the dwarf was sufficiently distracted so as to permit Legolas to have a good time, rather than feeling like he was on leading strings…than surely everyone could have an enjoyable evening…

 

And maybe Faramir could continue to duck and dodge the issue of the guards. 

 

XXXXX

 


	6. Chapter 6

XXXXX

 

**Part VI**

**[Legolas POV]**

 

Despite the pain laughing brought to his ribs, Legolas could not help chuckling at Gimli’s words about his heart shaped mole, and then he flushed with pleasure as Gimli added that it, “It wouldn’t do to give away all the family secrets.” It gave him a strange feeling, not unpleasant, but rather comforting, to be described as part of the dwarf’s family. It was astonishing how his life and views of others had changed since he set out on the quest from Imladris.

 

His eyes had been opened to the strengths and capabilities of other races, races that he had initially felt were somehow lesser than the elves. Now he knew that the second born had their own gifts and skills given to them by Ilúvatar and that it was unwise to make presumptions or underestimate others because of the way they looked, or their size or age.

 

And there he was back to his original complaint, his age, or lack thereof,. He sighed and Gimli immediately asked him what was amiss, “Is it your ribs, Lamb?”

 

Legolas shook his head, “No, I was just thinking.”

 

“Miracles do happen then!”

 

Scowling at his dwarven minder’s ill-timed levity, Legolas went back to brooding on the unfairness of his life. Then he found his chin being brought round so that he was looking directly at Gimli’s face.

 

He recognized the concern and the understanding in the black eyes that were frowning at him, “It willna make any difference how long ye brood Lamb. You are what you are, just like the rest of us. Ye are an elf, I am a dwarf. We all grow older at our own pace as was decreed by our maker and we canna change that.”

 

Legolas huffed again, “I know but it is so hard Gimli. I am not sure if I can explain why it is so important to me.” He shrugged and winced again as his ribs protested this latest foolish movement, “Ai, I do not even know if it is worth trying to explain.”

 

“Of course it is worth trying, lad. If ye can explain it to me, then maybe I can help ye, and at the very least it will have aired your grievances. Take your time. I am in no hurry.”

 

“Very well, I will try.” He paused trying to order his somewhat scattered thoughts and then began, “at home everyone knows my age or lack of. They all know that even though I have matured physically I will not be considered an adult by our laws and customs for another two yeni or more. As an elf within elven society perhaps especially because I am so much younger than any other elf on Arda my youth will always be an issue. I will always be seen as ‘young’ by my folk. No matter how hard I strive to prove my worth, and my abilities, I will always be the elfling.”

 

Gimli patted his arm, “Ye may not believe it, but I can understand how frustrating it is to be young and not given what you think is your due. There was a time when I too was deemed too young by my own people, just like ye; not old enough to make my own choices and decisions and I resented it just as much as you do now and wanted to prove myself. That is true for any youngling of any race.”

 

Despite his present distress and frustration Legolas could not help asking, “You elvellon?”

 

The dwarf nodded, “Aye, do you recall, when my father Gloin was brought with Thorin and company to your father’s halls?” Legolas nodded. He remembered the occasion well.

 

“I asked to be part of that company. I begged in fact for Kili and Fili were to be part of the group and only a scant few years older than I was, but my parents would not give permission. They said I was too young, did not have sufficient experience, which I told them I would never get if I was kept at home …” he added making Legolas laugh. “But it did no good. I was left behind and I was like a bear with a sore head for a month or more because of it. I’m sure I don’t know how Mam kept her hands off me. But of course my parents were right to be cautious. I see it was not that they did not care about me or my feelings but the exact opposite. They cared enough to want to keep me safe until I was properly ready to meet the challenges of life.”

 

One large calloused dwarven hand cupped Legolas face again, “I don’t say it isn’a hard for ye lad but it is the same for any of us as we grow up you know. Ye are not unique.”

 

Legolas swallowed, “I understand what you are trying to tell me Gimli truly I do, but it is not the same for me, not now. I know in my heart that Adar and Brethilas and all my kin do what they do for the right reasons and I do appreciate that they love and care for me.” He ducked his head and then looked up through his eyelashes at his concerned minder. “Just as you do, and I do appreciate that, truthfully I do. I am not so foolish as not to know that emotionally I am still immature and that I have had to do and experience things that perhaps in another age I would not have been asked to do. I do it gladly Gimli and I have few regrets I would sooner be here than kept safe within the stronghold and though I say it as should not I believe that my presence within the Fellowship was useful.”

 

“It was a deal more than useful Lamb, ye saved more than one life with your skills on our journey south, aye and have done far more since, I am proud of ye just as I know Thranduil is.” Gimli frowned, “but ye said ‘not now’ what did ye mean?”

 

Once again Legolas paused before speaking wanting to explain his thoughts and feelings as clearly as he could so that Gimli would understand. “Within my father’s halls there is no pretense no chance of hiding or dissembling about my age.

But when I travelled to Imladris and I met with the other races assembled for the council they did not know how elves age and so they accepted me as an equal.

And oh Gimli it made such a difference to me. For the first time in my life my lack of years was irrelevant to my companions. They saw me only as another warrior. You cannot begin to imagine how good it felt.”

 

He risked a look at his hirsute guard and saw Gimli was regarding him with a great deal of sympathy and a dawning understanding and felt able to continue his tale.

“As I said I was happy that I was seen as an equal by those I was to accompany on the quest. But the feeling did not last long. Once the members of the Fellowship were made aware of my situation, through my own stupidity I admit, everything changed again. You all did your best to treat me as you had before, but the truth is it was not possible. It is not possible. Once the seeds of doubt are sown they quickly sprout and grow. Suddenly I was being treated as more akin to Pippin than to you or Boromir and that hurt, hurt far more than the paddling’s I received at your hands and at the hands of Aragorn and Gandalf. And now it will start again, people will look at me differently, treat me differently, because of what they know, and I cannot, I cannot bear it …” tears he had done his best to keep at bay began to fall in earnest

 

“Eh Lamb …” Legolas found himself enveloped in the strong arms of a dwarf, so he put his head down on that broad supportive shoulder and wept tears of pain, frustration and exhaustion.

 

Eventually he became aware of the soft rumbling reassurances coming from Gimli and also apologies; he sat up at that rubbing a hand against his eyes

 

“Whatever are you apologizing for?”

 

“I didn’a know Lamb, not truly know, I mean. I thought I understood but I know now that I didn’t and I reckon no one else knows either just how hard this has been on ye. Why ever did ye not tell me sooner?”

 

Still sniffling Legolas muttered, “It seemed so silly”

 

“Nothing is too silly for ye to share with me Lamb, aye and I think I still only have half the tale do I not.” Gimli ran a comforting hand down the length of Legolas’ hair a movement that had always calmed and comforted the young elf making it easier to speak again when Gimli added, “Something else is plaguing that flighty mind of yours, I can tell. Out with it then. We may as well hear the whole thing that way we can begin to clear the air a little.”

 

“I … I only recently began to think about this Gimli; when Faramir told us of his marriage and his hopes for children, and we heard from Sam and Rosie. But then it struck me that all around me my mortal friends are moving forward, maturing, growing, and beginning their family lives. They will have children and they will grow up and do you see? Wvery mortal I know will pass me by.”

 

His voice cracked “It just seemed to make things worse. I so wanted to be seen here as an adult. It will be hard enough to watch my friends step beyond the circles of this world but to be left behind and still be thought of as a youth, so that each succeeding generation will treat me as a child …

 

And to not have your strength to help me endure it …” Once again tears overcame him and turning his head into his pillow Legolas sobbed his heart out, for he had finally spoken of his deepest fear of being left alone without Gimli beside him.

 

It was some time before he was able to bring his emotions under control, and Legolas berated himself silently for that fact, all he was managing with these tears and complaints was proving the point that he was still an immature elfling, he told himself. He hardly dared to look at Gimli who had sat so quietly as he wept, but since he would not have himself dubbed a coward he dragged a hand across his eyes, sniffed somewhat inelegantly and sat up easing his chest with one hand on his sore ribs.

He saw to his surprise that Gimli also had tears in his eyes, “My poor Lamb” he crooned as soon as he saw Legolas was looking at him, “perhaps your father had it right that ye should not have become involved with mortal kind, he told me he feared it would prove hurtful to ye and he was correct.”

 

“I do not regret it Gimli, none of it, for I have gained so much from it, not least your friendship and support it is just that sometimes I …” Once again Legolas found himself bereft of words to describe his feelings adequately.

 

“Aye I think I am beginning to understand things a little better now, and I am only sorry it has taken this long to see how important this ‘age thing’ is to ye. Ye have my word I will do my best to ensure that you are treated like any other young adult would be when we are out and about, aye and I will see to it that others do likewise.”

 

“You have always done so,” Legolas told him shyly, “but I would welcome your support when I am with others, but how that is to be achieved here in Minas Tirith now I do not know.”

 

“Now there lad, I think I can reassure ye, given the state young Faramir was in when I came for ye last evening and hearing the singing and noise in the cells I doubt very much if anyone will even remember ye were removed early because of your youth. While the guard captain who brought ye up to me will be far too busy explaining to his superiors how it was he locked up a visiting dignitary from an elven realm and his own steward to worry about anything else.

The fact is Lamb, that most folk are too concerned over their own troubles and woes to take much notice of what is happening to others and why.

But if there is any talk or comeback ye may leave it to me to put such stories to the roundaboutation. I will have ye given the respect ye deserve trust me on that, you do trust me?”

 

Eyes shining brightly Legolas hurried to reassure his dwarf “Implicitly Gimli. I know you will do your best for me, and I thank you for that as much as for listening and not thinking me stupid or foolish beyond permission over what is a situation I cannot change,” and then added hopefully, “Do you really think no one will see me differently because of last night?”

 

Gimli tugged at his beard, as giving the matter deep thought and Legolas held his breath, “Well now some folk may, me included,” And then he laughed at the horrified expression which Legolas was sure he was wearing.

 

“For one thing I never thought to hear that yours was the voice of reason calling for Faramir not to charge in as he did, and for another” he went on his eyes now twinkling “I had thought it impossible for an elf to ‘fall over’.”

 

“I did not” Legolas spluttered, “I stopped someone hitting Faramir with a stool and was knocked over and trodden on while doing so … Oh” he added his hand going to his mouth as if to recall the words, “ I never meant for you to find out about that. You will not tell Faramir will you Gimli? He feels guilty enough as it is.”

 

“Nay I will not tell him, although I should have guessed ye would be hurt trying to look out for others.” The dwarf lifted his hands in a gesture that spoke volumes for one who was frequently driven to distraction by his flighty charge. “Ye have no sense of the importance of your own safety, nor of how listening to orders would save ye trouble. ‘Tis one of the things that makes ye such a worry to me.”

 

“I do not try to Gimli” Legolas asserted and then added knowing that it was time to move on and accept his own part in last night’s debacle. “And I know that we still have to discuss my disobedience and my attempts to hide my activities from you.”

 

“We should talk about that, but not now Lamb for ye have been through enough. Aye and while I do not condone your naughtiness in sneaking off with young Faramir, I can and do understand more clearly why ye did it and I hope that what we have spoken of here today will mean that sort of thing will not happen again. I am not unreasonable lad, and I want ye to enjoy yourself and to get to know the people here in the city just let me know in future so I can stand ready to come and pull ye out of gaol.”

 

Despite himself Legolas chuckled at what he knew was teasing on the part of Gimli, but felt he had to make sure he understood what the dwarf was saying, “Um, when you said ‘talk’ Gimli did you mean talking or ‘discussing’?”

 

His dwarf laughed “I mean talk, laddie, this time at least. Now I reckon it would do ye some good if you were to dress and come and eat with the rest of us rather than brooding in bed here. Aragorn and Faramir should have finished their business some time ago and I have no doubt Faramir will be happy to have your company for he may be as sore as your ribs still are, but in a rather more personal place if ye get my meaning.”

 

“Poor Faramir” Legolas mourned as he let Gimli help him from his bed, “it was not really his fault that the brawl broke out either and he did not know about needing to ask your permission for me to accompany him did he. I am sorry I got him into trouble with you Gimli.”

 

“He’ll survive it as will you and Aragorn it is a time for all of us to adjust and to settle into new roles and there are bound to be some ups and downs at first. But we will get through them together lad just as it should be, because that is what families do after all.”

 

 

xxxx

 

 

 

**[Gimli POV]**

 

Gimli carefully supported his elf as he climbed out of bed and then helped him find appropriate clothing to change into for dinner.  Gimli then lead him to the bathing chamber where he stood just outside the door in case he was needed. Aragorn might scold over the fact that the elf had been allowed out of bed before he deemed it acceptable, but in this case Gimli felt the benefit far outweighed the risk, for continuing to worry over what could never be changed could only be detrimental to the healing process.

 

 As he waited he continued to ponder over what Legolas had told him, and wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before.  Of course he had always been very well aware of how sensitive the lad was about being considered a minor, but he had never thought it went beyond the usual reasons most young ones were sensitive about the same thing.  Now he realized how wrong he had been about that. Legolas was in a unique circumstance that no one else currently living in Middle Earth could fully understand.  He recalled what Legolas had said. ‘You all did your best to treat me as you had before, but the truth is it was not possible, it is not possible’

 

It was true.  Once he had learned of the elf’s extreme youth, he had thought of him differently and had treated him differently. He hadn’t been able to help it, for he had felt ashamed of his former attitude and treatment toward one who had turned out to be a mere boy. The fact was he still couldn’t help treating him differently than he would have had he been of age as he thought at first.  It didn’t seem fair or right to have the same expectations of a youngster as an adult.  If he was treated more like Pippin than the other warriors, then it was because he was relatively much closer in age to Pippin.  The only difference being that Legolas had been trained as a warrior and Pippin, being a Hobbit, had not.  And yet adolescent or not, or warrior or not, it did not change the great contribution both had made to their cause.  Both were deserving of the respect of those who benefited from their efforts.  Gimli swore to himself that he would do all in his power to see to it done. 

 

Gimli also thought of the conversation he’d had with King Thranduil and how he had worried over his son’s friendship with mortals and the affect it would have on him. Thinking again of young Pippin, he now realized that when Pip was a grandfather or even great grandfather, Legolas would still be at least one hundred years shy of being considered even a very young adult.  Everyone he knew who started our younger would pass him up, even Gimli’s little nephew Greirr who had hero-worshiped the elf when they visited Erebor.  Even the babe that  Rosie and Sam were now expecting.  It was the natural way of things, and yet it must be very demoralizing for his elfling.  Indeed befriending mortals had a high cost.  The only thing Gimli could think of to solve the problem permanently was for Legolas to be able to be among other young elves, who would mature at the same pace and who would stay younger if they started out younger and the only way for that to happen was for the lad to give into the call and sail West where many of his kind had already gone.

 

 After he had heard the gulls cry at Pelargir, Legolas had been slightly ill for a short time-quiet and distant-and Aragorn had explained to the dwarf that the lad had developed sea longing.  The only cure for it was to heed its call and Aragorn explained that the time would come when that would have to happen.  The call could not be denied forever, though  the elfling might abide a good long time yet in Middle Earth.  Gimli hoped so with all his heart, for he could not bear the thought of parting from his elf.  And yet it would solve a lot of problems for the young elf.  Of course it would cause others, for it would mean him departing from everyone he held dear and sailing to an unknown land all alone.

 

 

For a moment Gimli had an outrageous thought, one he had never expected. He had heard tales that it was possible for mortals to take the straight road.  Perhaps, just perhaps….but no.  It wouldn’t do to dwell on it now. For the moment he would just focus on what he had always done and that was to deal as best he could with the circumstances he found himself in.   And for now that meant finding a way to help Legolas see that things were not so dismal as they seemed.  Speaking of which, the lad had been gone a rather long time.  He was just about to call through the door to  make sure all was well, when he heard his name being called.

 

“Gimli?  I…I think I need some help.”

 

It was not a phrase often heard from the elf, so Gimli very much worried about what he would find when he opened the door. What he did find made him roll his eyes in frustration at himself for not having thought things through very well. Legolas had managed to don a pair of leggings since doing so did not require lifting his arms, but he had only gotten both arms out of the sleeves of the nightshirt and could get no further than that  in dressing himself. 

 

“Ai, Laddie,  what was I thinking?”  He hurried to gently help Legolas finish dressing and then  urged him to sit down so the dwarf could brush his hair for him as well. 

 

“I’m hardly helping my case here, letting you dress me and brush my hair,” Legolas pointed out, but he sat back and relaxed into the dwarf’s touch anyway.

 

“Nonsense, lamb, ye can hardly lift your arms. I am sure ye’d do the same for me if I were the one sporting broken ribs.”  Gimli reached for a wooden hairbrush and began to work on the snarls in the elf’s long hair.  “Now I”ve been thinking, lad…”

 

“Oh? Well miracles really…” Legolas began with a glint in his eye.

 

“And I’ll thank ye to keep  whatever ye were going to say behind your teeth elfling,” Gimli chuckled giving a tug on the lock of hair that was between his fingers. Legolas laughed as well, but obediently did not go on with what he was about to say, so Gimli continued.

 

“I think what we need is a plan. One that will make things easier on ye and still allow me to keep  the promise I made to your father to watch out for ye at the same time.”

 

“What sort of plan?”

 

“Simply this.  What happens between us is nobody else’s business but ours.  We only need to discuss between ourselves certain matters and if we can come to an accord before we are in a public setting there will be no reason for difficult situations to arise in front of others. “

 

Legolas looked thoughtful for a moment, before nodding in agreement.  “It might make things easier.”

 

“What I need mostly from you is to know where you are and what you are doing.  It would be a dereliction of  duty not to, but it is not my intention to deny every request or try to spoil your fun. I am happy with almost anything you want to do as long as its safe and reasonable.”

 

“We might disagree on the meaning of those two terms, Elvellon,” Legolas pointed out.

 

“We might at that,” Gimli agreed. “But we can talk it over and work it out.  I must warn ye though that if we cannot come to an accord, I expect to have final say.  It is my responsibility to keep ye safe.”

 

“I know that Gimli, and I will try very hard to cooperate,” Legolas promised.

 

“Good Lad, I know ye will,” Gimli tied the end of the braid he was working on.  “Like tonight for instance.  I’ll let ye know now what I expect of ye, so there will be no need to discuss it with everyone else about.  How does that sound?”

 

“I think it could  work,”  Legolas said.  “What would you ask of me tonight?”

 

“Only that ye recall that ye are not even meant to be out of bed yet, so ye need to keep still and let others wait on ye and wait for my assistance to get up.  Do we have an accord?”

 

“We do,”  Legolas assented, reaching out to clasp the dwarf’s hand in the fashion men used to seal an agreement.

 

“Very good then,” Gimli nodded. “Now ye are finally presentable enough to dine with the King.  Shall we?  Slowly now…”

 

The walk to the King’s family dining room was pleasant, for the intimate discussion that had taken place between them, meant that the dwarf and elf were still feeling especially companionable.  The slow pace they had to set in deference to Legolas’ painful ribs, however, caused them to arrive after  the meal was already well underway. 

 

Before they had even entered the room, the dwarf could hear the light banter and laughter that indicated a close family enjoying a  private meal together and was happy that whatever tension had been between Aragorn and Faramir earlier in the day was not gone.   All conversation stopped, however, when he entered with Legolas.  Immediately a severe frown appeared on the King’s face.

 

Aragorn began to splutter, for the healer in him did not appreciate having his orders flouted, “I thought I told you to remain in bed until…”

 

“It was only a short walk,” Gimli interrupted, saving Legolas having to defend himself. “Besides an hour or so out of bed can hardly make much difference.”

 

“Perhaps not,” Aragorn scowled further, “but I clearly said…”

 

Gimli’s frown was sufficient to put the King’s scowl to shame by comparison, but he  only replied lightly but in a tone that was difficult to argue with.  “Leave off, Lad.”

 

Gimli noticed Faramir’s lip twitch in amusement at his father’s discomfiture and Arwen hurried to smooth things over

 

“We are happy you could both join us,” she said, standing to give Legolas a very gentle hug.  “Thank you so much for doing your best to help Faramir in his…troubles yesterday evening.”

 

“It was nothing,” Legolas demurred as Gimli pulled out a chair for him and offered a supporting arm so he could ease himself into it.

 

“Of course it was something,” Faramir objected.  “I am sorry things turned out as they did, but your support was greatly appreciated nevertheless.”

 

Aragorn who was evidently still smarting from Gimli’s earlier rebuff, glared across the table at Faramir. “You would not have needed such support had you had your guards with you as I had ordered.”

 

“Something I did not want and did not agree to,” Faramir lightly reminded his king.

 

“I did not ask if you agreed or  not.  I have a right to expect your obedience,” Aragorn stated. He leaned forward as if gearing up for a long lecture. “It is not safe for a person of your status to walk about the city unguarded, Faramir.  I personally do not understand your objection to them anyway. It is hardly worth all the fuss.”

 

Faramir eyes snapped and his jaw clenched, but he held his tongue.  Gimli could tell by Faramir’s slightly stiff movements that he very likely had no desire to have another run in with his king too soon and that was likely what kept his tongue between his teeth.  Legolas, with his injured ribs and his dwarf to shield him wasn’t quite so circumspect.

 

“You never used to mind helping me ditch my guards, Estel,” he pointed out. 

 

Faramir stifled a snort of laughter and Arwen hid her smile in her wine glass, but Gimli threw his head back and laughed out loud. 

 

“It’s a fine thing to have folks around that remember your wayward youth, is it not?”  the dwarf teased his friend the king, who could not help smiling ruefully.

 

“Oh indeed it is,”  Aragorn agreed, “Thank you SO much Legolas.  Your commentary is so very helpful. But I still say the guards are vital and I know your Queen agrees with me.”

 

Arwen smiled sympathetically toward Faramir, but still she had to nod in agreement, causing Aragorn to smile triumphantly before consulting the dwarf about his opinion.

 

“What do you think Gimli?”

 

The dwarf realized that the king had the final say no matter what anyone else thought, but in this instance he felt all eyes on him as if his vote would break the tie.  It was  a dangerous path that Gimli had no desire to tread, for whatever he said, someone was bound to be unhappy. 

 

“I think it is time  to stop chattering like magpies, and pass the ale,”  Gimli said.  “A person could die of thirst right at the King’s own table in this place!” 

 

 

As he had hoped, this worked to set everyone laughing and change the topic to a lighter one of the merits of the meal before them.  Legolas started to reach for the carafe of  ale, for he had  gotten into the habit of serving Gimli. It was a custom he had learned in Erebor that  it was polite for children to fill  the mugs of their parents.  Gimli smiled at this sign that  the elf thought of him thusly, but he placed a hand on  his arm to stop him reaching across the table and disturbing his ribs.  A glance passed between them that was meant to remind Legolas of their earlier conversation and he immediately sat back and allowed Gimli to serve himself instead.  The dwarf congratulated himself on having successfully passed the message without saying a word, or alerting anyone else of their exchange.

 

 

 As expected, the meal was satisfying and the ale delightful.  Gimli revisited his earlier thought that there were certainly benefits of being personal friends of the King and Queen.  The company was agreeable as well and the conversation light and pleasant.  Eventually it turned to some good natured teasing, which lead to Legolas relating a story about a teenaged Aragorn, a visiting dignitary’s daughter, and life changing ten minutes in a hall closet.  Gimli could tell that Legolas still found the idea rather repulsive, but considered it worth telling just to see the interesting shade of red the king would turn. The dwarf also wondered if it was an appropriate story for the Arwen to hear, but obviously she had already heard the tale before, for she only laughed and wondered out loud what ever became of the girl who had been so fortunate as to be groped by a future king. 

 

Aragorn gamely laughed along with the others, but he did not take long to retaliate even so.  He leaned back in his chair and regarded his long time friend, with a false smile.

 

“So Legolas, tell me;  how does the gaol here in the city compare to the one in Lake Town?” he asked with mock curiosity.  “It is my intention to have the finest detention house in all of Arda, and I would appreciate your considerable experience with such things.  You see I’ve not seen the inside of this one as you have.”

 

Gimli raised an eyebrow at this new information, while Legolas narrowed his eyes at Aragorn.  But it was Faramir who saved the situation from digressing further into a competition of insults. 

 

 “Lord  Forlos is hosting an event and I thought perhaps you would all like to attend it with me,” Faramir offered.  “If you can ditch your guards, Aragorn, and everything goes the right way, perhaps you’ll get the chance to see the inside of the detention house for yourself.”

 

“That is so, laddie,” Gimli chuckled. “If the city guards are so dense as to arrest their own Steward, why not the King as well?” 

 

“I haven’t been arrested for a very long time. the King observed, “ It _would_ make a change from all the monotonous paperwork that seems to find its way to my office. I’m in”

 

“We can’t miss the chance to see this one behind bars can we  now lad?”  Gimli consulted his elf.

 

“Certainly not,” Legolas agreed.  “We must be there as well.”

 

“Good then,” Faramir smiled, “I will look forward to it.  What about you, my Queen?”

 

“I am not so sure it’s a good idea,” Arwen said impishly, looking around at the occupants of her table. “Someone needs to stay back and post bail.”

 

The End

 

End Note:

 

We’re not planning to write that next party, so please feel free to use your imaginations! We are trying to work on a Yule story involving these characters, so you can wish us luck with that!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> End Note: 
> 
> If you enjoyed this story and would like to read more like it, check out our group at:
> 
> http://groups.yahoo.com/group/TheLeaflingChronicles/
> 
> New members are welcome!


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